His legs felt like they didn't belong to him. He struggled to lift them as if the deadened hunks of meat were intricate marionettes, putting a lot of effort into the motion of picking up and putting down, one after the other. The steel-toed boots had seemed a good idea for the design of his outfit, but damn they were heavy now. His gear was the only thing keeping his neck from rolling bonelessly around, but it was also
so
damned
<i>heavy</i>.
The fight had been a brutal one. He was raw from screaming, because although the best ones came from the diaphragm, the last few had torn out, ripped from his throat in desperation. His eyelids kept drooping shut but he had to make it home before he could rest.
No blood... that was good. But he needed to lay down and recharge. He was trembling all over now but so close, the giant gates to his salvation in view.
Staggering up to them like a shuffling zombie in a horror film, he caused quite a stir from the few clustered around getting ready to enter. They recognized him and somehow got him back to the nurse's office, where he collapsed gratefully on a small cot.
Blissful rest.
He would be fine after a nap.
A good sleep.
he
just
needed
a
good
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