Jeremy

  Jeremy groaned through the muscle aches as consciousness found him again. His head throbbed with each pump of blood as if his skin was stretched too tightly against his skull. His memory lingered just out of reach as he wondered about his current situation and though about what had happened recently. He searched his thoughts while still lying on the ground, half his face smushed into the earth. Getting up was the last thing he wanted to do right then. Moving felt impossible.

  The world on his left side swam, washed-out and smeared, like he was peering through fogged glass. Through the blur it looked like trees of some kind were waving in the wind. Squeezing his eyes tightly, he willed the fragments of thoughts whirling in his mind to line up into something coherent.

  Let’s start over, shall we? he thought.

  Played video games. Of course, I played video games.

  When? Yesterday? The day before?

  Phone calls. Crypto-trade business transactions and advice, my money maker. Who else called me? Joe. John. Mickey. Bart. BART!

  Jeremy pressed through the pain, but his muscles and joints rejected with electric disobedience.

  Oof, he thought as he let himself fall back to the ground.

  Bart. What did he want?

  That meat-head called me about a game.

  Not a game.

  Some kind of magic.

  Magic! That’s it!

  He pushed himself up as the world spun in all the wrong directions.

  Forcing his eyes to focus and take in his surroundings, he took in the light from the sun.

  “Well, I slept all night I guess.” Jeremy said aloud and was surprised at the sound of his voice. "Well." he tested, "hello? Ahem..." he attempted to clear his sandy throat. "My name's Jeremy..." Either his hearing was messed up or his throat was screwing up his voice.

  Looking around he noticed was the ground. He stared at it expecting to see swampy mud, grass, and tree roots. Instead, it looked like he was on a beach; a clean, white, sandy beach.

  As far as he remembered there wasn’t a beach or sandbar like this anywhere near Pierre Part.

  This is weird. I must be down by the Gulf of Mexico, but Louisiana beaches aren’t this clean, he reasoned. Maybe I’m in Florida? How in the world did I get to Florida?

  He reached down and picked up some sand and let it run through his fingers.

  “AAAAAggghhh!” he screamed, “What the…”

  He lay there on this foreign beach, eyes wide, staring at the strange hand he held out in front of him. Even though his vision wasn’t 100 percent, the hand in front of his face was the wrong color. The wrong shape. The wrong number of fingers.. First off, it was green. Green! Secondly, he now only had four fingers.

  “What happened to me?” he muttered.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Lya selarin saelai??” A calm voice came from behind him.

  “AAAAAggghhh!” he screamed again.

  Jeremy turned toward the source. As he moved his focus from his mutant hand to inspect the individual who spoke, he saw two men. He saw two bald, white, tall, muscular men wearing full length white robes standing in front of him.

  As a black man from the south, Jeremy fainted.

  ?

  Jeremy woke up again and sat up immediately. Scanning his surroundings, he saw that he was alone in a room with hardly any furniture. His cell only contained the bed he was in and a small wooden table next to that bed.

  Oh man! I've been abducted by Deliverance hillbillies, he thought as he began searching for an escape. His prison had no windows or closets, and the floor appeared to be solid wood beams. The single door in front of him appeared to be his only exit.

  And they're probably guarding it, discussing some kinda wicked ideas to do with my pretty mouth.

  He looked at his hands again.

  “What the hell?!” he said as he confirmed they were still, in fact, green. The smooth glossy green tinted skin was complimented with dark olive liver spots. It looked like he had just slathered on some cocoa butter or baby oil. He had a thumb and three fingers each tipped with rounded pads interconnected with thin translucent green webbing.

  He jumped up from the bed and ran to the door and beat on it. “Let me out! What did you do to me! Let me OUT!”

  One of the same men he had seen on the beach opened the door inward slowly. He calmly said, “Virelin saen, alya melorien.”

  Jeremy backed away, “What have you done to me?! Why did you change me?! Where am I?”

  The man held out a hand. His eyes were wide as if he were just as afraid as Jeremy. He appeared to be trying to calm Jeremy down. Approaching Jeremy slowly, hands out, non-threatening he repeated, “Virelin saen, alya melorien.”

  Should I trust him? Jeremy thought. I literally have nothing to steal, and if these men wanted to hurt me, they could have done it already. Right? Still. Wasn't this was how horror movies started?

  The lizard part of his brain thought these men could be the ones who changed him, and their sadistic plan was to ensure he was conscious in order to torture him.

  Lizard…was I a lizard now?

  “Lya seraen ilai,” the man slowly stated, still looking like he was trying to calm Jeremy down. “Alya venar telen.”

  What the hell language is that?

  All at once, he felt every emotion weighing on him from the last few days. Tears flowed in great drops as his shoulders shook.

  The stranger approached him with a comforting look in his eyes, looking like he might want to hug Jeremy.

  Jeremy shrunk away, crossing his arms tightly hugging himself, squinting his eyes tight, forcing more tears to fall to the floor. The man embraced Jeremy in a warm hug. Jeremy let himself relax into the man's strong shoulders.

  “Virelin saen. Virelin saen,” the stranger repeated like comforting a new born. The words settled into him the way his mother’s voice used to in a soft, steady, promise, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” after he hurt himself when he was a kid or after someone from school bullied him.

  His mom didn’t comfort him much anymore. She couldn't see through her impression of him as a deadbeat mooch living off her social security. Of course, she didn’t see the bills he paid. The groceries he bought. The cable bill. The water bill. The electricity and gas bills. She didn't see all that.

  The second man came in with a light rag made out of soft material like a handkerchief. He handed the cloth to Jeremy, “Lya seraen ilai.”

  He mimed dabbing his eyes with the rag while offering it, “Dairin selae lya venisar.”

  Jeremy snatched the rag and wiped under his eyes. He was about to blow his nose, but his fingers only found smooth skin where his nose should be.

  He pulled himself away from the ‘hugger’ feeling the urgent need to see his reflection. Making his way into the adjoining room, he looked around the strange place for anything that he could use as a mirror.

  The room looked like one you would see in an ancient log cabin. It was a very basic open concept complete with living room, kitchen, and dining room all rolled into one.

  The men followed closely letting Jeremy move about freely unsure what he was doing. He wasn’t breaking or disturbing anything.

  Jeremy found a plate made of some kind of metal on the counter and put it up to his face. He dropped it dissatisfied with the lack of reflection and continued to search the premises.

  “Tsevané!” the hugger proclaimed. He swiftly went to an adjoining room. A few seconds later he brought out a handheld mirror. “Lysor ien. Tevalian syr lysor.”

  “Thank you!” Jeremy said. His knees buckled at the sight of his new face.