Postage Due

September 26, 2017:

After the bombing in Wakanda, Luke awakens back in his apartment in NYC with only one person to blame.

Luke's Apartment - NYC


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Jessica Jones


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Those first stabs of consciousness are the worst. It’s when tendrils of reality creep their way into the blissful darkness, dragging away the wisps of ether until you’re pulled back into the light. The painful light. Hot pins sinking into raw brain matter.

The man’s eyes crack open, lashes crusted and sooty from the explosion so the use of sight stings and springs a wetness to them that makes his room blurry at first. The four walls, the door. That window that doesn’t quite seal so it whistles when the wind blows right. It’s whistling now. It sounds like a freight train.

It’s with that screaming sound that Luke sits up suddenly from the indentation in his pillow.

He’s in his room. He’s in his mother fucking room.

The whistle is drown out by the sound of his pulse thudding in his ears. Wakanda. The explosion, the…

“Goddammit Jones.”

His ham of a fist crinkles the piece of paper with the word ‘Sorry’ scrawled on it. He’d hurl it across the room if he had the energy. Instead, he’ll just crawl back into that blissful darkness, still clutching the apology in his hand. Sorry. Sorry doesn’t cut it.

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