There is gum, fire gum, embedded in my mouth, pressing against damp cheek membrane. This soft, malleable substance burns, burns, burns as solid enamel crushes down onto it. Break and burn no more. Chew to burst the seams of red hot spicyness—relieve my senses, yet paint my taste buds rouge.

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The fog smothers the mountains this morning as I drive left-footed to school. Pure white cloud reminds me of those second grade mornings—bright fall leaves like colorful raindrops, covered with blankets of opaque moisture—where I stood, silent, on the blacktop.

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Brick buildings and dead grass haunt my aching memory—a ghost of dorm rooms, new faces, and sweat. Heat waves running through the window washed the small of my back, the top of your forehead. We did not imagine the reality of this horror—a zombie flick infused with classic suspense. We were oblivious to the solidity of characters transforming around us and taking horrific shape within the hour, twisting plots of far away post-high school wonder lands with gallons of fake blood. With gallons of real blood, because I am bleeding.