What can YOU say in six sentences?
Gary Johnson woke on the third night, or what he perceived to be, experiencing no pain in his abdomen and without worry in his heart. The bleeding had stopped utterly, congealing into discolored lumps beneath his bandages, and no infection plagued his insides despite what had been suggested to him as ‘grim likelihood’ by the wispy voice he heard in the trance of his ether sleep. A single lantern watched him, a tawny, dithering observer peaking warily from behind smoky glass; the light blinked at him, bidding Gary to rise from the operating table and cast off the heavy quilt, wet with fever. He shuffled over uneven floorboards and collapsed at the dusty sill of a foggy windowpane. Gary watched the snowflakes tumble, listening for the wispy voice now gone, not knowing exactly when it might return, yet in his solitude he was warmly comforted by the hoarse pops of the stove and lulled by the aroma of cedar chips and the musky notes pine. In the quiet he doted on his young wife with her yellow hair, and dared wonder what had befallen her, and the savage hill-dweller that had shot him.