Harl Simmons Lives

Harl Simmons awoke in his cheap, shabby, motel room and wondered why he had a splitting headache. He sat up from his bed and looked in the mirror on the Wall opposite. He was shocked to see multiple bullet holes over his body and head, but even more shocked when he noticed they were slowly healing. The blood from his veins was splattered over his body and clothes. He counted twelve holes in his clothing alone.

I’ve had better days.

The thought travelled through his mind and he wondered how that was possible, judging by the amount of grey matter from his splattered and torn brain covering his clothing.

I can’t have much of a brain left, surely.

For that matter, he was beginning to wonder why he was still alive.

That thought triggered another… no, not a thought, a message.

Harl’s rapidly healing eyes glazed over and he suddenly stood and walked into the bathroom and then into the shower, reaching for the faucet he turned the shower on. For the next forty minutes Harl showered, fully clothed and then turned the water off and walked to the bedroom. There he waited, dripping bloody water and brain matter onto the cheap carpet.

Harl waited until he was dry enough not to attract too much attention and then left the motel for the last time.

Extract from The Writing on the Wall by Tom Kane (c) 2016.
Published September 2016