He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his eyes shut against both the sunlight and the fireworks that detonated inside his skull whenever he moved. He was naked. He fished under his pillow and pulled out his pajama shorts. This was just too weird. Trey forced his eyes open and bent down to pull the shorts on when he saw his shoes. His favorite shoes. What the hell…?
There was a sharp knock at the door.
“My shoes! What the…?” His voice cracked as he tried to speak, and his throat felt painfully raw. …Standing up, he desperately looked around for something to drink, and saw properly for the first item that chaos that had become his bedroom….
Looking over his shoulder, he stared at the window, which was hanging at an impossible angle from the buckled metal surround..…His eyes shifted to the wall to the side of the opening, where great rents had been made in the plaster, as if someone had taken a garden fork and raked it along the surface.
How could he have slept through this? How could anyone have slept through this?