The piss-yellow tie was still stuck to his forehead, now stained with slight red.
His mind racee. What was he even doing? Why had he written his main-character like this? Why wasn't he moving? Pathetic, useless, incellular, moron-
|---|
"Hey, atleast he's self-aware!
|---|
As our pathetic MC contemplated his new existence as nothing but entertainment-
The tie plopped onto his shoulder.
His vision cleared slightly, the black spots fading slightly as he lifted his head up, neck-muscles spasming slightly, causing him to wince.
One of his hands reached up, pressing itself against his temples, fingers coating with blood.
His brows furrowed sharply, as he gave up on trying to make the (wonderful, amazing, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, if I do say so myself) narrator reapper, to no avail.
The pounding in his skull receded, to his surprise. He held his fingers out infront of his face, trying to see something through his now swollen eyes.
He squinted, watching with the comprehension of a moron as the blood vanished, and the cuts on his palms stitched themselves together.
His brain (or lack of one) short circuited.
Did he have some kind of cheat-?! A superpower?
He shot up straight instantly, banging his head on the fire-escape staircase he had huddled under.
He stumbled out of the alleyway, ( past the store he had appeared and landed on-top of the robber in ), looking haphazard and ragged.
Not a single person in the moving crowd spared him, or the grocery store with smashed shelves a single glance.
A faded-neon, smudged sign on an empty looking building nearby read ;
"WELCOME TO NEW-YORK!"