Left Handed

19

"How can you still type this?" you might ask. "You haven't got any fingers."

I don't have a whole body. I have a head, spinning through the air in a cell on a Spanish naval ship. That wasn't how I envisioned my career plan but what can you do?

Spoiler alert: I did not die. This ought to be obvious because you are reading this and if dead folk could finish their diary in whatever afterlife there is, there wouldn't be this whole debate about it.

Of course I didn't know that at the time. I fell into a a dream and the entire dream was about guilt.

It wasn't about a particular thing I was guilty of. There was no story, no cast. Just a feeling.

If that's the afterlife, we are all fucked.

I woke up with an enormous headache. I tried opening my eyes but did not manage.bibfelt like I floated. I didn't feel my body touch anything at all. There was no wind either and no smell. I tried to open my eyes again but the effort made me sleepy. So I drifted back into a dream.

This time there was no guilt. I don't remember that dream but I'm sure it wasn't anything crazy.

When I woke up next, I found my lungs filled with water. I retched and coughed and almost passed out. Then I looked at the liquid. My stomach rose. It was green and slimy. Strings of the stuff were still attached to my lips. I tried to keep it down but I couldn't. My sick, too, was green.

I pushed myself away and the first thing I realized was my left hand. It was back.

"Bo?" I croaked, still staring at my hand. What came out of my mouth was more brbbb than his name. I coughed again.

"Frrrzbo?"

"Why do you talk to your hand?" a voice behind me asked. It was a deep, voice, used to authority and obedience.

Of course this was the point where I realized I was naked.

I turned my head to see who had spoken while trying to cover my breasts with my arms.

"The fuck?" was all I managed to say.

In the entrance to my vomit chamber stood an honest to fuck alien. Now, he didn't have antennae or looked anything like a cockroach or other insect. He had the features and build of a human man, albeit an extremely edible human man. The resemblance ended there. His skin was blue and his hair was white and long, covering the sides of his face. His eyes were yellow. He looked like the flag of Sweden. Oh yeah. He had wings as well. Minor detail. They weren't like bird wings or traditional angel's wings, more like dinosaur wings. Like a vampire.

"Sooooooo?" he asked. "How do you feel?"

He spoke English which was kind of weird, since we were in Spain and not in a Hollywood movie but I let that slide.

"I'm naked. I got sick on me and probably in my hair, too. Other than that I've got oodles of happiness pouring out of my soul," is what I thought of to say in the shower later. What I did say is this:

"Water? Please?"

"Oh. Yes, of course," he said. "Your new body's muscles still need to properly grow to full functionality so I will now carry you."

Rude, I thought. Then; new body? Excuse me, whaaaaaat? But again. This was a very internal monologue-heavy part of my life.

He approached nonchalantly and slid his muscled arms under me and proceeded to lift me like the sack of tomatoes I was. It felt...good. He didn't care. He didn't give a shit. He was like a honey badger: not afraid of anything. He wasn't afraid if he was going to offend me or if he got my barf on his shirt. At the same time, I felt safe. He didn't give off sexual vibes at all.

He carried me to the next room and then into an en-suite. Thankfully it had a chair In the shower and he sat me down on it. He turned on the water, checked the temperature and handed me the thingy. (Note: my English failed me here. If anyone can tell me what you call the bit that the water comes out of, I'll be eternally grateful. Well... till next week at the minimum.)

He stepped back and crossed his arms, his eyes still on me.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

"Yes, sure. Sorry," he replied and left. He closed the door after him. He didn't stammer like most guys would in this situation. He was just matter of fact.

For a while I sat there and let the water run down me. Every movement of my arms and legs was a chore. I wasn't sore; I was weak.

I noticed something strange: I had not a single blemish on my body and my skin was as smooth as a newborn's. No birthmarks. No scars.

New body? What happened to my old body? Then I remembered my head bouncing off the ceiling, the granate, the nameless interrogator. I felt sorry for her and wondered if she made it out. Unlikely.

To be honest, I wasn't freaking out as much as I would have, after all: Frrrzbo had been a part of my life for some time now. It isn't a huge stretch of the imagination that these people could grow body in vats like pickled cucumbers.

All in all I felt healthier than ever, apart of course from the weakness.

After the shower I tried to stand up but my legs buckled under me. I sat back on the chair and knocked on the door.

It jumped open and the blue man stood there, smiling at me.

"Jesus fucking Christ man! Have you no decency?" I always wanted to say that last sentence. Very Queen V. "I need clothes," I said less aggressively. "And if you could help me out of here and to some food. I'm absolutely famished."

He brought a toga and some underwear and I put them on. (Not in that sequence, duh.)

Then he helped me into a wheelchair and wheeled me out the room, down a corridor, up an elevator and eventually into a large dining hall. Long rows of tables stood in line, pointing from the door to a raised dais on the far end. It was all very Viking feast.

The man sat me at a table close to the door and told me to wait while he got food.

"What's your name?" I asked as he walked off.

He turned around, grinned like a toddler on mango day and said, "Frrrzbo, of course."