“When! When will we see? What happened to me? Was I shot? Why can’t I stand?” Drool hangs in sticky strings from my face to my hospital gown. “And what the hell is going on with my mouth?”
I pull.
GI Blonde, steps forward, gun aimed at my chest.
“Tell me!”
“Sit down! RELAX!” GI Blonde screams.
“Tell me!”
“I WILL shoot!”
“Why?”
Then I look down and realize why. The straps are nearly in half. Torn. Ripped. I could never do that in real life. I can’t do that now. What is going on? A dream?
Maybe I am dead.
Maybe I’m dead and a zombie. Zombies are strong aren’t they?
Crap. I’m a zombie.
GI Blonde gets right in my face. “Sit still!”
“NO!”
My arms rip free. GI Blond shoots. The bullet dings off my chest, knocking the wind out of me, skipping off my skin, but not injuring me.
Rubber bullets?
Maybe.
But GI Blonde looks shocked. Afraid. He’s backing up. So is everyone else. Like they’re about to run. But I don’t care about them. I don’t. I need to know. And if these people aren’t going to give me answers, I’m going to find them for myself.
I stand up. Reach my bandaged fingers up to my face. Feel my head, my eyes, my nose, my mouth. It’s wrong, all wrong. My hair. It’s not there. There’s hard lumps, bumps, roughness. I pull at my finger bandages. Rip them off. See . . .
Black.
Was I burnt? What?
I feel my face once more. My lumpy, scaly(?) head runs down to an elongated face. My jaw protrudes outward. I can feel teeth.
My knees buckle. Legs jelly. Hands shaking.
“What. . . what happened?”
The lady comes over. Hand on my shoulder. Gentle. “You were hit by a meteor shard. We’re not sure what happened to you exactly. That’s what we’re trying to find out.
“Mirror. Give me a mirror.”
“That might not be the best . . .” she says.
“I DON’T CARE!”
“Let him.” GI Alpha says. “He’s going to find out eventually.”
“But his psyche. We don’t know how . . .” the lady rushes.
“Here.” GI Alpha pulls a small mirror out of his breast pocket.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to bite my lip. My face doesn’t work that way. I have to see. Open my eyes. Hold the mirror, trembling.
Black skin. Scaly diamonds. Mouth coming out a good twelve inches from my face. Teeth, sharp and white. Teeth like the ones which bit me. Teeth like my worst nightmare.
I am my worst nightmare.
I am the crocodile.
“What happened? Tell me.”
I pull.
GI Blonde, steps forward, gun aimed at my chest.
“Tell me!”
“Sit down! RELAX!” GI Blonde screams.
“Tell me!”
“I WILL shoot!”
“Why?”
Then I look down and realize why. The straps are nearly in half. Torn. Ripped. I could never do that in real life. I can’t do that now. What is going on? A dream?
Maybe I am dead.
Maybe I’m dead and a zombie. Zombies are strong aren’t they?
Crap. I’m a zombie.
GI Blonde gets right in my face. “Sit still!”
“NO!”
My arms rip free. GI Blond shoots. The bullet dings off my chest, knocking the wind out of me, skipping off my skin, but not injuring me.
Rubber bullets?
Maybe.
But GI Blonde looks shocked. Afraid. He’s backing up. So is everyone else. Like they’re about to run. But I don’t care about them. I don’t. I need to know. And if these people aren’t going to give me answers, I’m going to find them for myself.
I stand up. Reach my bandaged fingers up to my face. Feel my head, my eyes, my nose, my mouth. It’s wrong, all wrong. My hair. It’s not there. There’s hard lumps, bumps, roughness. I pull at my finger bandages. Rip them off. See . . .
Black.
Was I burnt? What?
I feel my face once more. My lumpy, scaly(?) head runs down to an elongated face. My jaw protrudes outward. I can feel teeth.
My knees buckle. Legs jelly. Hands shaking.
“What. . . what happened?”
The lady comes over. Hand on my shoulder. Gentle. “You were hit by a meteor shard. We’re not sure what happened to you exactly. That’s what we’re trying to find out.
“Mirror. Give me a mirror.”
“That might not be the best . . .” she says.
“I DON’T CARE!”
“Let him.” GI Alpha says. “He’s going to find out eventually.”
“But his psyche. We don’t know how . . .” the lady rushes.
“Here.” GI Alpha pulls a small mirror out of his breast pocket.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to bite my lip. My face doesn’t work that way. I have to see. Open my eyes. Hold the mirror, trembling.
Black skin. Scaly diamonds. Mouth coming out a good twelve inches from my face. Teeth, sharp and white. Teeth like the ones which bit me. Teeth like my worst nightmare.
I am my worst nightmare.
I am the crocodile.
“What happened? Tell me.”
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