Eventually I got up and began my laborious trek down the highway. The day was oppressively hot and humid. The road emanated a throbbing wave of nausea-inducing heat which could've been baking me alive. Looking up at the sun, I apocalyptically cursed the rays of luminescent hate bearing down on skin that was far too fair. Each footfall became a struggle- draining every ounce of mental and physical composure kept within. Exquisite flares of agony bolted through my nervous system sporadically.
It's amazing how introspective one comes whilst in a semi-comatose state. In fact, it could be almost funny.
Introspective, yes, but in a dark sort of nihilistic way. I began to question things during that long walk down the highway, issues which most sane human beings accept impassively and with a second nature; the government, civilization, death, life, and my own solid mortality. Why are we born if we are eventually going to die? Why must authoritistic figures assert themselves? What is waiting for us on the other side? Is there another side? The endless stream of ephemeral inquiries continued until another realistic explosion of pain seared my brain. Rubbery knees buckled underneath me as my stomach churned unrelentingly with nausea. I cradled my aching cabeza in my hands and waited for the feeling to pass, but realizing it was ineluctable, I vomited all over the pavement. No blood this time, at least, I thought.
I can only recall fragmented images of the rest of the journey, but I do remember I arrived safely at my house shortly before nightfall. The once poignant sun was now a benign disc sinking into the depths of hell, painting the sky an array of psychedelic orange and purple hues closer to the source, then tapering off to more subdued shades in the west.
On the couch I lay lethargically, waiting for my churning stomach to abate. My brain pounded on the sides of my cranium as if asking to be let out. As I watched TV, I wondered absently why I had four of them. I moaned and shook my head to stave off the quadruple-vision, but only succeeded in jarring my brain around more.
A fragile, dreamless sleep immersed me unexpectedly.
Groggy eyelids still plagued by slumber opened slothly. Everything swam into focus with surprising crystalline clarity. The first thing I noticed when I sat up was my exanimate epidemic had apparently gone. A new robustness surged through my body, but I sensed something was amiss still.
A sound.
It wasn't something that I heard that unnerved me, but what I didn't hear that almost sent me into paralysis.
Breathing. Don't people usually breathe?
Oh fuck. What the hell happened to me? I pressed my hand to my chest and waited for the familiar vital throb, and felt none. No heartbeat, either, I thought with something like terror. And what does that mean? That I died, and this is hell? Or maybe I am dead and still on Earth somehow.
Standing up was surprisingly easy. My body felt nimble and lithe, almost a springy feeling. Somewhere behind me, the rusty drone of a chain saw roared. I reeled clumsily and looked for the maniac in the hockey mask waiting to redecorate the house with my intestines, but calming realization took over when I spotted a small dot aimlessly flying in the far corner of the room. It wasn't a chain saw I had just heard, but a housefly.
A number of ironic coincidences brought to light the abilities I had acquired.
Subsequently following the housefly incident, I had decided since my exanimate phase had passed, that it was time to go eat. A knot of apprehensiveness tied itself in my stomach at the thought, the haunting occurrence of what had happened several days ago ripened in my mind. And even though I wasn't hungry, I thought it would benefit me for some caloric intake, but it was strange... I hadn't eaten in nearly three or four days, but no physical fatigue or weight loss made itself apparent.
I slipped my sunglasses on and prepared to ease into my coat, when I discovered my fingers were superlatively sensitive. I was actually feeling each individual fiber which was intricately entwined to compose the whole of the garment. Unreality drenched like a bucket of water. I left the house sopping wet.
Pragmatism and analysis were large portions of my personality. I discerned that the advent of these strange phenomenon was no doubt, the "incident". The real question was how. Systematically I scoured every cerebral archive of recollection from the "incident", the events precursory to and after it.
I felt pain when it happened.
Where?
The neck.
What does that mean, some sick psychopathic fuck tried to drink your blood?
No. But that's close. It was...
A few moments later, after piecing together the minute shards of remembrance, I had a haunch. A far-fetched, transcendent haunch, but it would explain some things.
But first, I would have to rectify that haunch.
