“STOP!” NICK SCREAMED IN HORROR.

She couldn’t bear to look. The smell of electricity hung in the stale air. She could see blue zaps through her closed eyelids. The hair on her arms tingled. Electricity sizzled.

“What?” Exflipper asked, unheard over the constant zapping.

“Stop!” Nick cried, “Stop the machine! You…you…” Several fitting curse words came to mind, but Nick had realized these would have had no effect. Exflipper’s vocabulary was limited to only the most proper English words.

“What?” Exflipper hollered.

“You piece of feces! You donkey-butt! You child of a dog! You life-devouring bacteria. You methane-farting bull! You animal!”

“What?”

“Aaaaargh!” Nick screamed with anger and frustration. And just like that, the zapping stopped.

Nick panted heavily. Her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. Her throat was raw and sore. She had not cried, but her nose and cheeks were bright red.

“There,” Exflipper said shortly, “That wasn’t too bad, was it? Please refrain from screaming. I didn’t right it in the Terms and Conditions, but perhaps I should have. Sodriew are so jumpy.”

“That wasn’t too bad? THAT WASN’T TOO BAD?” Nick yelled.

Exlipper stuffed his ears. “I just told you not to yell. And yes, I did say it wasn’t too bad. You do not need to repeat it for me.”

“YOU JUST KILLED THAT MAN AND IT WASN’T TOO BAD?”

“Killed?” Exflipper repeated. Then he looked back at the machine, then laughed.

“Oh, just my luck. You’re a psychopath too.”

“I am not!” Exflipper roared with such ferocity that Nick jumped. “I didn’t kill anyone. See for yourself.”

Nick had not looked back. “You just electrocuted a man. I have no wish of looking at a dead body.” Nick didn’t dare raise her voice though. Exflipper scared her.

“He’s not dead.” Exflipper walked to the machine and gave something a little kick. “Come on. Wake up. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Nick’s curiosity overcome her. She glanced back.

There, as expected, was a man in the machine lying prone to the floor, his who body covered with blackish soot. Exflipper gave the man another kick. Nick felt sick. She looked away.

So this is my fate. Why, oh why did I stay in that forest and follow that robot and type conspiracy wrong and why did I even think it was a good idea to—Nick’s ran through all her life’s choices, or, at least, the choices that were responsible to what would happen now. Her death.

Stolen story; please report.

A moan sounded from behind her.

“Why did I eat eggs it was obviously the eggs that made me all funny for the day and why hadn’t I listened to Ben he may have given me a valuable clue and why did I not pay attention to social studies and so I wouldn’t have typed conspiracy wrong and why did I get detention it was obviously the detention’s fault and why did I even respond to the chat box and why did I agree to the terms and conditions and—” Nick chanted aloud, her voice rising over the groaning.

“Who are you?” someone murmured.

“—and why hadn’t I eaten the other chicken leg instead of the wing and why did I—what?”

Her head swiveled back. In the machine, propped up and sitting, was the man. His eyes were opened.

“Why are you alive?” Nick blurted.

After a pause, Exflipper answered. “Phew. For a moment I thought you wouldn’t stop. That was a real question, right? Not like the other ones.”

Nick nodded.

“He’s alive,” Exflipper said nasally, “because I didn’t kill him.”

“Then what did you do to him?”

“I merely wiped his memories. We are just about to land in about ten minutes. I’ll just drop him off.”

“Land?” Nick asked, panicked again, “You mean like the explosion that happened?”

“No, I have auto-land. We have a high chance of not dying.”

“Oh, that help so much,” Nick said sarcastically.

“Your welcome.”

So he doesn’t understand sarcasm either. Great.

“Isn’t he making new memories now?” Nick pointed out, “Why did you wake him up?”

“Don’t worry. He’s too weak and tired to make new memories. I’ll put him back to sleep in a moment. When he’s dropped off, he’ll just assume it was a dream. Sodriew are so weird.” Exflipper paused, then giggled.

“Why do you keep laughing like that?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “Inside joke.”

----------------------------------------

TIMOTHY BLINKED.

Everything was pink and happy. Pink and happy. It all seemed underwater though. And the air smelled all gross and burnt. Electrocuted—that was the word. He felt proud of thinking up the word.

Maybe his dad took him to an aquarium. That must be it. Then why was everything pink? This had to be a special aquarium, where the water is all pink. And this was the electric eel exhibit. That’s why the air was so funny.

But did eels have hair? Long hair? Timothy frowned. No, this was not an eel. This was a person.

This person must be an electric eel trainer. Very little, but that was the only reasonable explanation. His face was all messed up though. The eye was halfway down the cheek. The eels must have bitten him.

Where were the eels then? A sharp pain was delivered to his butt. Then it all made sense.

Timothy was an eel. And another eel just shocked his butt! The person looked all funny because Timothy was looking at him with eel eyes.

But Timothy could still detect no eel. And no wet water either.

What an odd aquarium.

Suddenly, painful flashes of brilliant blue invaded his vision. His skin tingled all over. Timothy gasped. Then the vision went fuzzy, and it was gone. Timothy shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

There were no other fish tanks, at least, none that Timothy could see. There were, however, strange buttons and metal things.

There were funny noises too, now. Funny yelling noises. Words. They were words. Timothy struggled to string them together. It hurt. His ears hurt. He stopped trying to make sense of the gibberish. Much better.

It occurred to him that he, too, had the power to use words. Yes, he would use them. But what should he say?

He tried something. but it came out all wrong. The yelling continued, louder this time. He must have said the wrong thing. He strained his tired brain for something else to say. The boy came to view again.

“Who are you?” Timothy croaked.

The yelling stopped.

The boy with long hair lifted Timothy up, and placed him on his butt. Timothy frowned. His butt still hurt. He wanted to express his unhappiness. But talking was tiring, and besides, he couldn’t think of the right way to explain his discomfort.

Something pierced his arm. Timothy’s frown deepened. It hurt more than his butt.

But the pain wasn’t so bad after a second. Maybe he should just sleep it off…