The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

"Time to wake up," a man's loud voice bellowed outside the dumpster in which Jeremiah was still lying cold inside.

The man struggled to awaken himself from the harsh slumber in which he had been trapped. He could hear the man outside repeat his four words over and over again, but for the life of him Jeremiah couldn't figure out just who he could have been speaking to. All of the sudden, a blasting knock at the dumpster caused Jeremiah to jump so violently that he hit the top of his head on the dumpster's steel lid.

"Who's in there?" An old, dingy looking, bearded black man opened the lid.

The sunlight rushed right inside the dumpster to where Jeremiah had to shield his eyes. The man then attempted to get up only to remember the effects of the beating he endured. Immediately he slumped back down into the pile of filth.

"Man, what are you doin' in there?" The old man looked confused. "Are you drunk or somethin'?"

Rubbing his aching jaw, Jeremiah once more tried to sit up until his hands reached the rim of the cold dumpster. "What...what day is it?" He slurred.

Where you been?" the old man

as he climbed up and out of the dumpster, holding his sore ribs

he staggered backwards into the dumpster scaring numerous cats

"Who were you yelling

scurrying felines. "On chilly mornings

wrapped his jacket around his body as tightly as he

wake up, friend!" The

him. Even without his glasses he could see

in. The second he shut the door he sat perfectly still inside the frigid vehicle and rested his painful body in the seat. What was going through his head was a tidal wave of everything horrific, and unexpectedly serene. With such vivid precision he recalled the event

inside his body. He dropped his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to drown out any emotion, but it was completely useless; there was entirely too much quiet, and all the quiet seemed to do was remind him of what he had survived up until then. Jeremiah then lifted his head back up and looked right into