Somewhere in this house, I have left a survivor. Hiding somewhere, sweating in the heat, the survivor knows I’m coming.

Blurry memories struggle to grasp the survivor’s location. I know I saw. I know I was near. Where? How long ago?

Uncertain feet stumble about the terrain, searching for the survivor. My legs are heavy, and my heart pumps pain into my throbbing brain.

Finally, I spot the survivor. Silent screams. Nervous terror.

I grasp the sweaty form and pull it towards me. My hand wraps around the survivor’s neck. I squeeze, bearing down on the sweaty brown throat.

I twist and open the neck to a hissing sound of escaping air.

I press my mouth to the survivor’s lips and drink fluids from its rigid body.

Foaming and warming my belly, the fluids comfort me.

I’m pleased. Pumped full of euphoria.

Headache subsiding.

I found my last beer.