The Last Of Us

Chapter One

Anthony's consciousness slowly emerged from the grip of a pounding headache, his vision swimming amidst a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. The world appeared as a chaotic blend of hues, as if a painter had mixed an assortment of pigments on their palette. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

Attempting to shake off the disorientation, Anthony mustered the strength to rise, yearning for the solace of cold water against his face. But his efforts were dashed as he found himself colliding with a cold, unyielding silver pole, the impact reverberating through his shoulders and elbows. Pain shot through his bones and spine, causing him to emit a guttural cry of anguish. Gasping for air, he fought to maintain composure, suppressing the urge to break down in tears.

With each passing moment, the rain outside intensified, further obscuring his already blurred vision. It became a challenge to discern his own hands or to ascertain if he was bound to something immovable. He was trapped, unable to move even if he desired to. His nose detected traces of mucous mingling with his tears, and his bloodshot eyes reflected a faint reddish glow, longing for a mirror to assess his condition.

Amidst the dimness, the scent of dampness permeated the air, intermingled with the remnants of last night's uneaten dinner-a vibrant medley of colors resembling a rainbow turned awry. The aroma tantalized his senses, momentarily distracting him from his predicament. Faint hints of aged wood and musty cellar leaked from below, accompanied by the elusive fragrance of long-forgotten vintage spirits, their barrels untouched for decades. Anthony gritted his teeth, diverting his watery gaze away from the orange glow that illuminated his confining space. His blurred vision discerned faint smudges of blood staining the ground nearby, prompting his eyes to dart anxiously from left to right as he strained to focus.

"Wh-where am I?" Anthony's voice trembled with fear and confusion. "Why am I not in my bed? How did I become trapped within the confines of my own home?"

Anthony mustered a few deep breaths, wincing as stinging pain coursed through his body, a hunger that felt like daggers reminding him of the lack of sustenance. His eyes squinted, straining to pierce through the lingering blurriness, revealing his confinement in a room surrounded by barrels of aged whiskey. The door stood wide open, offering a glimpse of freedom. Nearby, he noticed large flour packages, concealing pouches of illicit drugs hidden amidst the innocent facade of baking ingredients, a secret nestling deep within this clandestine space.

Confusion washed over him as he realized he was living with his manipulative ex-girlfriend-an arrangement that seemed incongruous given her mistreatment and desire to keep him away from this place. She had treated him poorly, while showering affection on her new lover, a rival who stole him away from his true girlfriend. The tangled web of lies and broken promises weighed heavily on his heart, blinding him from the path to true happiness and a promising future. It was a trap he had fallen into, ignoring the warning signs and repeating the mistakes of his past.

Anthony's attention shifted to his lips, tinted a light shade of red against his heavy black beard. He could taste the bitterness and rustiness that clung to his hair, his longing for moisture prompting him to moisten his lips with a dampened flick of his tongue. It was difficult to resist the urge to soak them further, his craving extending beyond sustenance to his own being, even if it meant consuming something unsanitary. Since the previous night, each breath had become a challenge, leaving his throat dry and his body parched for hydration. He attempted to kick his feet, the impact of his black-soled shoes smacking against the floor with a resounding thud. Anthony grunted and groaned, struggling to regain his footing and adjust the angle of the plate holding his meager breakfast. With a determined effort, he aimed to eat and drink, his right foot creaking as it settled against the plate, causing it to wobble and collide with the orange-tiled floor. The glass containing the orange liquid toppled, the contents spilling in a cascade of shattered glass and sticky liquid, drenching Anthony's blue jeans in a wet mess.

"Damn it..." Anthony muttered, his voice trembling with a sense of defeat. He shifted his feet back to their original position, his stomach growling and sharp pains shooting through his side, hips, and chest. He groaned, his breaths quickening, as he glanced down at his wet legs, the dampness only exacerbating his discomfort.