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Dough didn’t expect anything much to come out of today. He really didn’t anticipate anything, like someone trying to eat him or anything that bizarre.
He just sat on the bleachers, thinking that nothing would happen, afterall, he couldn’t have that bad of luck, could he?
Wrong.
Just watch the game and everything will be okay.
That’s what he kept telling himself.
Everything will be okay.
He zoned out for a moment, trying to get himself to shake off this eerie feeling.
He didn’t like to overthink, as that led to other thoughts that Dough didn’t feel like dealing with at the moment.
The eerie feeling didn’t go away.
It grew bigger.
It grew until Dough thought the feeling would never go away.
He then felt the cause of the feeling.
He didn’t realize that he had been pushed off the bleachers and onto the cold, wet grass until he felt a searing pain in his thigh.
Something was biting on his leg.
No.
Someone was biting on his leg.
Someone was trying to eat him.
His fight or flight instincts kicked in, and it was hard to choose the second option when someone was trying to bite his throat open.
So he chose the first one.
That fight came in the form of a large rock that was next to the pair. He reached out for it, almost freezing in shock as he noticed how bloody his arm was already.
His outstretched hand took hold of the rock, swinging it as hard as he could at the person.
He would never get the sickening sound of hitting flesh out of his head, the sound of a body hitting the grass.
His instincts told him to hit them again. To hit them so they wouldn’t get up and finish him off.
And so he did.
He could feel warm, sticky blood splattering his face, yet he was too in shock to notice.
He didn’t even hear the people around him as his vision tunneled into darkness.
…
When he woke up, he couldn’t see much. It was all a big blur for Dough. All he could see was a large white roof, the lights being blindingly bright.
He couldn’t move much of his body, other than his head.
He could see machines connected to him, yet that didn’t calm him down.
What happened?
Where was the person that tried to kill him?
Did all of that actually happen?
Questions rang out in Dough’s head, yet he didn’t think he would get an answer in this condition.
He could slowly, painfully move his body to the mirror across the room, trying to confirm if it actually happened.
The pain that resulted in him moving should’ve been enough proof, but he wasn’t convinced until he saw himself in the mirror.
And oh boy was he a mess.
Dried blood was all over his face and body, half of his body was covered in bandages or stitches, especially his leg. He looked pale, paler than usual, like he'd just seen a ghost.
He wanted to throw up.
He wanted to run away.
He wanted to do a whole lot more than stare into this damned mirror, but he couldn’t.
Dough felt a sickening feeling across his entire body.
He had just killed someone.
Someone that had a family, maybe even a lover.
Sure, it was to save himself from certain death. They were trying to kill him, afterall.
But Dough felt like he should’ve just taken death instead.
…