I wake up from a slumber I thought I’d never wake up from. I feel weak, dizzy, walking the thin line between consciousness and death.
‘Rabbit up ahead, rabbit up ahead!’
The words hit my eardrums, but don’t quite make sense. I don’t even know who’s voice it is. It’s a hissing voice, it’s high-pitched, it’s excited . . . my heart knows it’s Es, but my growling, grueling stomach doesn’t let the information flow to my brain.
'Where . . . where's the rubber?’ I say foolishly. I have no idea why I said what I said. I probably meant to say “rabbit” but my food-deprived tongue spit it out differently. Guess we’ll never know.
‘Rabbit! Rabbit!’ Es is still chirping.
What in the seven oceans is up with her? This isn’t some Lewis Carol fantasy or Loony freakin' Tunes, what’s a bunny doing here?
I pull my groggy self up and hoist my head over the boat-rim to see the “rabbit” for myself. There’s a small whirlpool up ahead in the lake, which I’m sure will grow much, much bigger once we move closer.
Big enough to consume the boat as a whole. Along with its occupants.
On either side of us, the UFOs are gathering on treetops to watch our upcoming demise. Their blank faces seem to cry out in joy. If they had mouths, I’m sure this is what they’d be saying: you escaped the lizard-heads; how’re you going to get out of this peril, eh, travelers? Got any other bombs, you uncouth foreigners? This is what you get for invading our twisted land!
Okay, that’s likely a stretch, but you get what I mean. Hopefully.
I feel someone push past me to the bow of the boat. It’s an adult. A one-armed, estranged-to-me adult.
‘Wait! That’s it! That’s the eddy!’ the adult shouts.
‘That’s the vortex of death, that is!’ another voice – this one I recognize, this one is Aar – says. ‘Es, move us away from it!’
The boat swerves left, but by then we are in the acting range and influence of the “vortex of death” or the “eddy” or the “rabbit,” depending on what you want to call it. The boat pulls a three-sixty, everything is whirling, the adult is screaming 'Don't resist! Drive into the eddy!’ and someone – a ginger-head – crashes into me and slowly – slowly but surely – we head into the vortex of death.
The lake pulls us in.
And then they die. The end. Thanks for reading.
Just kidding.
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Dead
Humor**This book features short, fun, snappy chapters** **Perfectly fine as a standalone** [Caution: may pack a couple of gutpunches.] "First things first: this is the story of how I die. Over and over again." __________________________________ Marra is...
