A warm breeze gently caresses Walter's face as he regains consciousness. It smells like night air in the country, with a strong smell of an herb he can't identify through the fog in his head. He hears no cars, no planes, none of the usual city sounds. It's almost pleasant.
Then the pain hits and reality punches him in the guts. Realizing he's on his side, on soft ground, blindfolded, he struggles to move. Thyme. It's thyme he smells.
Where the fuck am I?
He tries to remember how he got here.
He's suddenly roughly pulled to his knees, the movement of the assailant releases a stronger scent of herbs.
"Time's up, Walter." a sultry voice croons in front of him, "Goodbye, Walter."
He feels soft lips kiss his forehead.
A sharp sting, then warmth spreads down his front. He collapses back to the ground.
Out of sardonic obscurity he chuckles to himself:
Killing Thyme...
horrorquest