SoldierWithASyndrome

You had been dead for three weeks, two days, one hour and sixteen minutes. At least that was what you estimated, given the dates on the calendars, the times on the clocks.  It was just an estimate of course; you were using the last time you remembered as an indicator of when you died. Because you had died and you knew it. Just as you knew there was only one person who would have brought you back. Toris. Sweet, sweet Toris, who thought he’d been doing the right thing, who thought that he could bring you back from the dead unharmed. God he was so naïve. Not that you could have blamed him. He was new to this thing, new to the idea o