He landed but didn't feel his feet hit the ground.
The pain woke him up. He felt his chest and could feel an iron rod sticking out of
his chest. He was too scared to see how bad it was. He glanced at his hand and saw
blood.
“Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap,” he said.
He stared at it for a moment. He had a flash of Déjà vu but couldn't place it. He
couldn't recall when his hand was covered in blood before.
He took a few labored deep breaths.
He needed to get off of the fence. The front door was a few feet away. He could
call for help once inside.
He tried getting off the fence but couldn't. He felt for the rod sticking out of
the right side of his chest. It came out an inch. He could do it, he reasoned. He
could get out of it.
He tried once more to get himself off of the fence and everything went black.
His eyes opened. His face pressed against the concrete walkway. He lifted his head.
Less than four feet to the door. He tried pushing himself up but couldn’t.
He could feel his wet shirt clinging to his chest.
“I can do this,” he said to himself.
He managed to get on his knees. He took a few short but deep breaths then crawled
towards the door.
He reached up to the handle, thankful Casey had changed it. Three weeks ago, it was
a knob. He doubted he could have turned it enough to open the door. Now, he needed
to grab it and let gravity help him finish the job.
The door opened for him and he crawled inside. His breathing quickened. He wondered
where he left his phone. It could have been in his bedroom or the living room.