A Jerk Knows Best

Shayla felt an unseen string tethered around her waist. It nudged her ever so slightly, like the Spreahs’ fishing rods having snared algae. The invisible thread carried her to the surface, to reality. All the way up to the moment she finally opened her eyes, she glimpsed the faces of the people she had killed. They all stared at her, accusingly. She had no words to defend herself, and her limbs felt heavy and stiff. Sadness, regret, sorrow. She had them all.

When she finally managed to move, she found herself sitting in a weird-looking room. Her legs and back ached, and she rubbed her temples. Three men and a woman seemed frozen in place while another tall, blonde woman paced around the hangar bay. She stopped and outright glared at Shayla now as if she thought she would never wake up again.