[ for Miles ]

Saturday, Dec 10

I felt foggy. And cold. I couldn't really tell where I was. I don't think it was so much that my vision was blurry as the fact that my brain just couldn't completely remember the things it was seeing. I was too tired, or too . . . something.

I was pretty sure it was some kind of drug. My limbs felt heavy, and the world felt slow. It had to be some kind of tranquilizer.

What I could make out, I was pretty sure I got right, at least. There were a bunch of people. They all looked different ages, different hair colors. Different enough that I could tell them apart with my muzzy brain. The thing about them was their teeth. They were sharper than seemed possible. And of that I was positive, because I had the bite marks to prove it.

Deep inside, there was a voice telling me to morph, to hide and get out. But I was more afraid of morphing than I was of my captors, right now. See, the drugs were making it hard to gauge time. I didn't know if I'd been there for minutes, ours, or days. What if I lost track of time like this in morph? I'd be trapped forever, as a squirrel or the spider crawling across my bare, goosepimpled knee.

Was I cold? I thought I was, but I wasn't shivering. Did that matter?

Not to my captors. It didn't stop them from sinking their teeth into me, literally. I think I winced, but I'm not really sure.

All I was sure about was that I needed to get out of there. Somehow.