History Of Violence

Confusion and consciousness seems to collapse over me at the awakening of my eyes. The display appears foggy and blurry and as if the world becomes nothing but a Merry-go-round—spinning and spinning, until it finally reaches to the point of my clear vision. A sting quickly triggers the nerves above my eyes as if it's my brows that somehow caused it. My body feels weak and dead and as if I've been in a coma longer than I have ever lived. As if heavy weights laid organized in every part of my body, except for my head. My spine feels stiff because with every effort I give to sit down, I just end up in a series of helpless gasps.

I blink my eyes several times, further adjusting my view in focus.

I look around. The surrounding is familiar, looking straight out from a place I believe I have been before. A wealthy guy's bedroom, with dark walls and ceilings mostly adored by those ruthless gangsters. The bedroom is abnormally large—as large as Sebastian and I used to live in. That's right. N