[ WP ] Write any story . The only twist is that the last sentence has to be the same as the first .

I still do n't remember what happened, not completely. 
 
 It came back to me slowly while I was lying in my hospital bed, what little I actually could remember. It hurt to breathe, like a donkey was standing on chest, doing its best to crush me under its hooves. 
 
 It had been in the middle of the night, a cold and rainy one in early spring. I had been dozing off on the couch, my hair still damp from the shower I'd taken. I must have forgotten to lock the door, because when I came to next, someone had my hair wrapped around their fist. Before I could completely wake, the figure had sat on my chest. Cologne, sharp and buttery, enveloped me, making it hard to breathe. 
 
 `` Who --'' Before I could finish my sentence, the person drew their fist back and punched me -- hard, but not hard enough to break anything. As a result, I gasped in pain, my vision clouded. `` Shut up.'' The voice hissed -- it was male, and I growled, knowing that there was no way of movement if the fucker had my hair. `` Who are you? What do you want?'' I asked anyway, but that seemed only to enrage him. He hit me again, and this time I saw red. 
 
 There was a snowball's chance in hell I was going to let anyone steal into my house in the middle of the night and beat me bloody. God damn it all to hell, why had I slept out here? I did n't keep a gun anywhere out here -- my one Glock was resting uselessly in the bedside table. 
 
 My mind was racing, trying desperately to think my way out of the situation even as I struggled to breathe, with this masked monster sitting on my chest. My vision had narrowed into thin points, and I could hear myself panting, struggling for what air I could get. 
 
 Desperately, I raised my hands and clawed for my attacker's eyes, digging my fingers behind his eyes. He roared with agony, warm blood flowing from his eyes as I dug to wrench them from their sockets entirely. Strangely, defiantly, a fierce joy, not unlike a berserker high, flowed through me. When I was finished with his eyes, I shoved him off of my chest, flinging him to the other side of the couch with all of my strength -- which, to be fair, was n't much. 
 
 I ran as quickly as I could to the bedroom, his animal roars of rage and pain echoing in my ears like sirens. I skidded into the room, nearly falling over in the process, and slammed the door behind me, leaping across the bed to the bedside table, yanking the drawer open with shaking hands. Even blinded, I could hear the man bumping around, trying to find me, and I heard glass breaking, and other objects hitting the floor. 
 
 I quickly checked the gun -- as I'd suspected, it was loaded -- and turned off the safety. I walked out to the living room, and the man stood with his back to me, blindly swiping at the bookshelves and knocking them over. As quickly and silently as I could, I fired, one, two, three shots into his back. The recoil almost made me fall over again, but this time, I stood my ground. 
 
 I was standing over the monster's body when the police busted in -- I learned later a neighbor had heard the commotion and called the cops. At the sight of the officer, I lowered the gun, and he took me outside to the ambulance to get checked out. `` It's all right, sweetie. You're safe now.'' The medic said, taking the gun gently out of my hands and handing it to an officer nearby, who bagged it for evidence. He checked me for cuts and bruises, and winced in sympathy when he discovered the section of my scalp that was bare. `` Oooh, looks like that hurt.'' All I could do was nod in response. 
 
 Shortly after that, I was taken to the hospital, where I still am today. I can barely remember the interview with the police -- I was still in shock. I was checked again for cuts and bruises, and I reluctantly agreed to a doctor's examination. I got off scot-free: It was ruled self-defense. 
 
 I still do n't remember what happened, not completely.
