Thomas opened his eyes and sat up while coughing the vile smoke out of his blackened lungs. The night's cold, clean air was so refreshing even as it dove under his wet clothes and made goosebumps run along his skin. He took in as much fresh air as he could in between his heavy coughs. Two heavily scarred hands gently pushed him prone, back on the hard dirt.
"Take it slow," a faintly familiar voice said. The hands guided his breathing by pushing up and down on his chest. "In through the nose." Thomas breathed in. "And out through the mouth." The hands pushed down, pushing the fresh air out. Four fingers were held out in front of him. "Thomas, can you tell me how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three…no four," Thomas replied, his blurry vision steadily focusing. He glanced to the figure kneeling next to him, someone a year or two older than him and dressed in a white robe.
Sometimes I feel like doing this to my dogs, who just stare at me and bark at me for no reason other than the fact that they are chiuauas, not the extremely little ones but mixes. I'll just be watching a video and they'll just bark. I'll pet them and feed them and give them treats and walk them but BARK BARK BARK BARK. "WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU ADORABLE LITTLE BUNDLE OF FUR?"