JURASSIC NATION

Union

Malcolm looked out the wide window. What was the point of anything? He made it clear to himself that he was slowly but surely becoming a mad man, his worst fear. By far his mind had been the most powerful thing of all. He was never really a sporty kid, always the nerdy one who was stuck in some book doing critical research. He never had many friends either. He thought about himself seriously now. He was extremely arrogant and stubborn, never listening to anyone else's advice until he learned a mistake for himself. Unless it was a superior, then he followed orders. But by the time he was lecturing college students, he not only questioned his superiors but judged them too. He became his own mentor.
Now, though he was always a know it all, there was one thing that boggled his mind. The ghost. For the life of him he could not figure her out. And now, he began thinking what his superiors would think about her. Like Mr Fisher. An old mathematician that saw a miniature version of himself in Malcolm when Malcolm was studying. Until Malcolm disapproved of an opinion Mr Fisher had on Chaos Theory.
Malcolm thought how he was such a horrid know-it-all. He did serious reflecting, and it made him wonder if this could be the end of his life. Stuck on an island, escaping the bad guys, trying to save the world from loosing humanity.
Even though he knew now that he might not have been a good person, he wondered why the ghost saved him. Why did she care? He could not stand her existence. He thought she was an act of the devil, and made it incredibly clear of that in front of her face.
Like others, Malcolm received the mysterious call from Wu. He ventured forth and was curious. When Wu revealed his dirty experiment on the island. Malcolm immediately rejected the ghost Wu presented to him. Because of this, Wu laser tagged Malcolm with a specialised gun while Malcolm was not looking.
Then, Malcolm heard the screeches, ghastly screams coming from some type of raptor. Wu let Malcolm go outside to the helicopter, only to discover there was no pilot. The screeching became louder and then, he was face to face with a black raptor the size of a storey. Malcolm ran with everything he had, but his limp always failed him. He ran into the trees, but in the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow of another raptor lurking. His direction changed as he caught the glimpse of a building amongst the tree tops. He climbed the first tree he could get his paws on. His body itching with old age, he struggled through the creaks of his hips and his wobbly knees.
There he found a trapdoor, it was small but he could fit, if only he could get it open. Malcolm banged hard with his fist, he even yelled out for help. Nothing, nobody.
The raptor pounced, its sharp index nail caught his leather belt and snapped it. It then proceeded to rip down his grey trousers. Malcolm hung on to the branch for dear life.
The trap door opened, lighting up Malcolms face. A hand came from the level above, grabbing Malcolm by the collar of his tux. It lifted and shoved Malcolm into the corner of the room, where the corner office was.
The body that was attached to the hand quickly disappeared down the hatch before Malcolm could get a good look at it. He heard roars and screeches. Then he thought of his phone. If this was the last thing he would see, the world should see it too. He started recording, trying to make a big speech about life. He wanted to sound philosophical and wise for his last words. Just as he was about to spill the beans on InGen and Wu, the trapdoor flung open again. A wreak of a roar came hollowing through with a raptor head, the raptor snapped its head around like a wriggling worm out of soil. It knocked his phone out his palm, its tooth snatching on to a lip of his old wrinkled skin. He bled.
But the raptor yelped as it sunk down. It disappeared down. Malcolm felt numb, his face white. For a few seconds, he lost his breath completely, his lungs burned. Eyes tearing.
He heard a step, the trapdoor rose from the ground once again, but it was not what he expected.
White fuzzy hair followed by pale scaly skin and a pair of golden yellow eyes peeped. The body finally had a face.
"You..." Malcolm whispered, "Get away from me." He backed into the corner. The body carried on rising until it hopped in. It was that hybrid.
"Leave me alone." Malcolm winced, defenceless. She remained there, crouching down, leaning on her toes. Her arms forward, resting on her knuckles. She looked like a curious ape.
Slowly, she hovered toward him, cautious. She knew that she frightened him beyond belief. But she persisted on, an inch at a time until she reached his feet. She saw the gnash that he had on his ankle, and the terribly throbbing blood stream from his wrist.
Gently, she raised her hand to her mouth and licked her gnarly black nailed thumb. Her tongue surprisingly a dark blue shade.
She reached down to Malcolms torn trousers, at the bruise and slid her thumb over it. She was like a nurse, helping him.
Malcolm felt a relief. The burning that spiralled through his foot was met with cool icy liquid. His first scientific observation of her – she heals with her spit. Gross.
He saw for himself how the redness and the swelling in his leg vanished within minutes. If he had more minutes left to live, he would see how it cured his limp. Malcolm was pale, the bleeding from his wrist drained his livelihood. He began to feel nauseas, weak. He looked at her through drowsy eyes that budged like a Chihuahuas. With all the strength he had, he lifted his arm offering it to her. She responded by cupping his hand with hers. He could feel how her skin had a pebbly soft texture, a rough edge where the serrating nails grew. Incredible, he thought as he felt her swirling miracle lotion cool his wound. But before he could see the result, he passed out. Darkness never felt so inviting before.