Plan B

One of the many things May had never thought of was the improbable idea that a plastic bag could make a decent pillow. But now, as he laid collapsed on his side, deep down on the cellar floor, resting against a stuffed plastic bag with legs sprawled uselessly, did he realise that, sometimes, plastic bags were the only pillows the world needed. Truly, the bag seemed almost to absorb the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours right out of his body.
But the rational part of him, which was in fact quite small just then, knew. He knew there was no fatigue-absorbing-bag working its magic on him, rather it was his own body. His body that had been nothing out of the ordinary not too long ago, his very body that could now mysteriously heal itself.
He sighed. Then he heard approaching footsteps.
Dammit.