The Tales of Flesh and Blood

The Freaky Hair-Dude

You know that feeling when you feel so sick that for a moment, you're convinced that it's the end for you? When your thoughts go from Man, this sucks, to Well, this is it. I'm going to die choking on my own vomit. Hope someone finds my body before the rats do.

Okay, maybe that last sentence was a bit of a stretch, but it was certainly something going through my head.

My entire body felt like lead; I couldn't move - I didn't want to move, even though the sweat pooling off my skin made me itchy and more than uncomfortable. I could have been laying down on millions of pin needles for all I knew, but I could not shake the feeling that if I so much as turned an inch, I would get a serious dose of vertigo - which would only cause me to empty whatever was left in my stomach.

There were people shuffling around me. Someone was talking, though in a language that I was not familiar with. It was a male voice, and when someone else replied in a much quieter tone, I quickly determined that I was dealing with more than one man.

"She's awake," someone warned - another man, and the two talking silenced themselves - though why, I wasn't sure. It was not like I understood them, anyway. I figured now was as good a time as any to try to open my eyes.

A dark, gloomy ceiling with foggy strands of light was the first thing I noticed. There seemed to be more shadows than not, and as I moved my eyes over my surroundings, I was able to convince my sluggish mind that what I was seeing were brick walls so old and worn that I would not be surprised if someone told me this building was built from the Lost Ages. The air was dry with hints of dust.

Maybe it was the poor lighting that did it, but my delirious head went straight to that stupid video with the crazy man and eyeless boy, and the first comprehensible thoughts that went through my head were, Oh shit, and I can still see.

I kept thinking that I should probably sit up and at least try to look at my captors, and it got to the point where I could envision doing it in my mind - but I found myself continuing to lie down, anyway. There was talking, but I couldn't focus enough to pay attention. I could hear my blood roaring in my ears, and I was faintly aware of my arms straining against . . . something. I squeezed my eyes shut, and with a great amount of difficulty, I managed to turn my head a slight inch and open my eyes again. It took a great moment more before I realized that my arms were being held tight beneath leather straps against the bed. Desperately wanting to rid my mind of this blasted fog, I shook my head.

And what a mistake that was. All the muscles from my neck to my back flared with a heat so violent and sudden that I went to scream, but at the quick rise of my chest that came with the draw of rapid breath, the pain shot straight to the back of my skull. My vision flashed white, and the blood that was rushing in my ears went to a piercing, high-pitched screeeeech!

The next time I came to, a man was injecting a needle on the inside of my arm, in that soft spot in front of the elbow. My body felt more relaxed and stable, and I did not fear what would happen if I tried to move. I took that bit as a good sign, but I was not too confident on whatever drug this guy was pumping into me. For one thing, he didn't look . . . human. I blinked, then blinked a few more times to be sure of what I was seeing.

Hallucinations. That's what this is, I told myself, the first clear thought I've had since puking my guts out on the side of Frenice's car.

The man's skin was green - and by green, I mean green, like freshly manicured grass in the middle of spring. What I could only assume to be veins ran black across the surface of his skin. I clenched my jaw and blinked again, and his skin went from green to a transparent white - with the blackish veins still visible. He had six eyes, three on each side of his face, all focused on my arm, all a very disturbing, very bright maroon color. At least he had pupils, though with some serious consideration, I wasn't sure if that tiny detail helped much at all. Long, stringy, pale hair ran past his shoulders . . . until I thought that maybe it wasn't hair. The ends kept curling in and vibrating against something - I briefly pondered if it was reacting to the cold or this strange thing's emotions.