100 Words A Day by Hydrargentium

Well, at least 100 words — best served random….

Tag: Surefire

Surefire was sure she’d been partying far too hard last night. Her head throbbed, her back ached, and it smelled like she’d fallen asleep in a pool of her own vomit — and maybe someone else’s as well. Squinching her eyes tighter produced a rumbling in her ears, but seemed to release some of the pressure that felt ready to burst through the back of the skull.

Well, she reflected, bracing herself for the assault of light from when she forced open her eyelids to face the day, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up like this after an all-night bender. It’s funny, though, that I don’t remember anything about it. I usually have a few good, if hazy, memories to help me out of bed.

Finally, she let her eyelids peel back. Moments after that, all thoughts of parties gone by had gone bye-bye.

She was in a dingey concrete tunnel, lit only by a flicker of fire cast from somewhere out of sight. The vomit smells resolved themselves into far more unpleasant and unidentifiable odours. The throbbing in the back of her head flared for a moment as she remembered the impact of something hard and flat.

Right, she thought. Not a party. Not my kind of party anyway.

Surefire wrinkled her nose.

She meant to say something witty, or at least quote Han Solo about princesses and incredible smells, but the moment she opened her mouth, the full force of the environment hit her, right in the back of her throat.


The stench was both sharply noxious and bluntly overwhelming. The first impression was something akin to rotting potatoes, but that was quickly smothered over by layer upon layer of effluvious vileness. Sour milk, then baby diapers, then burning tar, then coffee breath and stale cigar smoke — each one adding itself to the full, throat-twisting, gut-churning olfactory impact. Surefire could smell it, taste it, even feel it like acid at the rims of her eyes.

And before she even had time to fight against her rising gorge, she was struck from behind, the flat of a shovel reflecting dully in her lantern light.