His blood felt like it was boiling inside of his veins. Laying on the floor of his apartment, Bishop was nearly comatose with pain. What he could feel, was enough for his eyes to roll back in to his head and to arch up. His jaw clinched closed so tightly that his teeth ground together.
I’ve been dosed. That bastard dosed me. If I make it through this, I’m going to kill him.
Bishop felt his teeth snap and the pain sent him over the edge and in to darkness.
A car alarm woke Bishop up. He rolled on to his feet and padded across to the sink to stick his head under the faucet to get a drink to soothe his parched throat. He wobbled and fell when his back legs got tangled up in his front legs. He tried to untangle himself and ended up falling face first, his jaw hitting the floor. He growled and fought to regain his footing, but couldn’t. Bishop lashed his tail in annoyance and looked down at his feet. He had four black paws that had large, very deadly looking claws coming out of them.
Bishop panicked when some memories from the night before came crashing back in to his head. The fight with Pope stood out. He was like an animal, full of rage and no sense of the humanity that had once been inside of him. Somewhere he had been dosed, probably during the car trip to the warehouse where they’d fought. Shaking his head, Bishop tried again to get to his feet, this time with more success. Padding over to the counter, he hopped up and hoped that his laziness from the day before had meant there was a bowl of water in the sink.
He was in luck, there was and he helped himself. Just as he had gotten his fill, Mrs. Johnson from next door spotted him on the counter and screamed. This was not going to end well.
Count is 332 words for this week.
Also if you’re interested in Marlowe’s adventures, I put up a blog for her stories over here.