Hades Ain't Got Nothing on Us

Ch. 5 - Folie À Plusieurs

Zaid Blackhawk did not wake up the next morning. He remained in a deep sleep, unperturbed by any outside tremors, and was having a most excellent dream. It was the most vivid he'd ever had in his life, and better, he was aware he was asleep. In a fantasy world where the physical and societal rules of reality did not apply, he had free rein to do what he wanted.

At first, the dream felt so genuine that he panicked. He was underwater, so far below the surface he could not see anything. No sunlight could break through the miles of water above him. Unable to see his paddling hands, he followed the invisible current. He could feel no clothes or oxygen tank on his back, yet he did not feel cold or asphyxiated.

Slowly, his vision improved. His eyes could detect the slightest light that disputed the hazy waters. They made out shapes in the water, recognizable ones like fish, kelp and rocks, yet he could not see his limbs.

This was because he had none; he had fins. He was not human, but a King of the Ocean. He was a shark.

With newfound confidence, he explored the wide sea around him. Sharks were his favorite animals because like him, they had no competition in the water. He showed no mercy to his subjects. What fish he did not dispatch with a flick of his tail, he devoured in a never-ending smorgasbord of frutti di mare. He crashed into coral reefs, destroying whatever ecosystems he could find, and found that seahorses were particularly delicious, like a potato chip.

He hoped that morning would never come, but that sentiment did not last long. An amorphous shadow was approaching, one darker than the deep blue of the ocean. By the size of it in comparison to him, Zaid presumed it was a whale.

He wondered what whale tasted like in this dream ocean of his and sped forward. Closer to the surface, he could see its outline in the brighter waters. Did whales have dorsal fins? He tried to recall the little he'd absorbed from marine biology last year, but the answer did not matter. No whale had teeth as jagged and innumerable as those that were opening in front of him. Even if it was a friendly but overgrown dolphin, Zaid changed course as best he could in his new body. If he didn't need his tail to propel him away, it would be between his legs, which he was missing very much.

Suddenly, a rush of pain and frenzy scattered his brain. It felt as if a hundred needles had jabbed him in a circle around his lower quadrant. With his body clamped securely between the jaws of the mystery beast, Zaid twisted his torso to the monster that had turned his best dream into a very real nightmare.

Through the cloudy, red waters he saw what it was, and what he was not. Staring him in the eye was the inimitable pointed nose of a great white, thrusting forward like a torpedo right before impact. It must have been ten times the size of whatever he was. What was the name of those tiny things they dissected last year?

Dogfish.

No longer king of the ocean and more like chicken of the sea, Zaid instructed himself to wake up.

"Open your eyes. This is just a dream. Open your eyes!"

His eyes opened, but he was not awake. Now he saw the shark ripping at his torso with his waking eyes. Blood was everywhere. His eyeballs burned from the saltwater that surrounded them and streamed from his tear ducts. He could feel his life shrinking inside him, energy lost and spirit dying.

Before the light left his soul, he blinked. Red turned into white. Eggshell white, the most beautiful shade of paint. He was back in his room. When he sat up, another rush of panic sent his heart into overdrive.

If he had air in his lungs, he would have screamed at the Jaws poster facing his bed.

He coughed saltwater onto his shirt, and remembered how to inhale without gills. His mattress was wet with perspiration. Slowly this time, he twisted his neck to face the petite mirror from which his water polo cap hung. His eyes were bloodshot and screaming for relief from the residual stinging. His thick hair was damp, but smelled more of seawater than sweat. He touched his cheeks, his lips and his nose. Wrinkled as they were, he had hands again.