B

Burnt Rubber

In the first moments of my consciousness, something tasted of burnt rubber. Not entirely sure what rubber was, or how I knew it to be such, these weak thoughts were the most I could muster. Speeding uncontrollably in vast nothingness to an unknown destination, these fleeting concerns felt both all important and trivial. It was the most I could do to make sense of my situation in that second. Slowly, I felt more of me come back, pull together like mist condensing into a drop. Uncertain if this was metaphorical or not, the sensation was painstakingly real. I could perceive more around me, but little of myself. Suspended in a gaseous gloom the c