Boston Run

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His grey eyes snapped open with the abruptness typical of those who were brought back from the dead, and he stared at the yellow ceiling overhead in a state of dazed bewilderment. Where am I? was the first question his mind posed. He tried to lift his arms, but for some reason they wouldn’t budge. What happened? was his second question. He knew he was lying on his back on a soft surface, although he couldn’t remember how he got there. His throat felt extremely dry, so he swallowed and licked his lips.

“Ahhhhhh. I see our patient is finally awake,” said a low, kindly voice from somewhere off to his left. “How are you feeling?”

He blinked when a white-haired man materialized above him, noting the man’s lined, mature countenance and steady blue eyes. “Wh—” he croaked, trying to speak, his parched throat and strangely immobile jawbone strangling the word and causing him to cough.

“I’m Doctor Milton,” the man said, introducing himself.

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