Explore "Cosmic Saboteur" by Frank M. Robinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
His muscles were aching and sore and he felt sick to his stomach.
His eyes wouldn't focus at first and he stayed flat on his mattress and stared at the hazy outlines of the room. It was a funny kind of hospital. Nobody had bandaged his cuts -- they were still caked with blood -- and he still had on the same torn clothes that smelled of sweat and dirt.