“Shit!” Vincent turned on the spot and stumbled down the path, clinging to the trees. He repeated the expletive several times.

“What was it speaking, Spanish?” Dave asked.

“Holy shit, we are not in Mexico, Dave!” Vincent said, “that wasn’t Spanish!”

“That was Spanish.”

“It wasn't Spanish, it was bullshit! What in the hell was that thing?! What the fuck did I just do?!”

No answer. Fortunately, the pathway was flanked on one side by a bunch of trees. He was able to stumble from one tree to the next. Occasionally, the wings would get caught in the branches and he would have to pull them free. It was like getting an umbrella caught in a tree, only an umbrella didn’t hurt when it got scratched or torn.

Each wound was yet another insult, another conspiracy forged by limbs that should not exist. He had no idea where he expected the dirt path would lead, but it gave him time to think about what just happened.

“Dragons...” he mouthed, shaking his head. “Dave, what the hell is going on?!”

So, he entered this world in a body that’s not human, on a planet that has two moons, and it's inhabited by creatures that closely resembled humanoid dragons. If a unicorn suddenly pranced out of the bushes, he wondered if he would even flinch.

About an hour had passed since he started along the path. His pace was sluggish. Whenever he came to a gap in the trees, he was forced to crawl. Several times he had fallen down and slipped into psychosis.

Sometimes he became convinced that the creature decided to pursue him for revenge, so he was forced to hide in the woods until he was sure he wasn't being followed. And a moment later, he would be embarrassed for being afraid of such a ridiculous thing. To add to his frustrations, the wound on his arm was beginning to throb.

“Sit down,” Dave demanded.

“Why?”

Vincent did not want to stop. He wanted to put as much distance between him and his “savior”.

“You need to check your cut. It's probably infected.” Dave paused for a moment, but then he added, “you're tired.”

It was true, Vincent was tired. It felt as though he were forced to carry an extra load. The act of simply trying to maintain a balance sapped most of his energy. Plus, he was thirsty and he heard a stream trickling nearby. Apparently, this dream, this experience, whatever it was, emulated bodily needs. The thought of drinking while inhabiting such a body was kind of appalling to him. How the hell was he supposed to drink with his snout, lap up the water like a dog?

“I feel sick,” Vincent said.

“I know. What they did to you is despicable,” Dave said in a surprising display of empathy, “sit down and address your wound. You are dying.”

“I'm not dying. I think there's a stream up ahead.”

Sure enough, a small ravine carved a small gully into the path. The water trickling through it was remarkably clear. After sinking the knife into the ground, he got onto all fours and crawled toward the ravine. Not wanting to see his reflection for a second time, he closed his eyes and put his finger into the water.

He used it as a marker of sorts to let him know where the water was. Then he lowered his mouth. Almost immediately he gagged and choked. Since he had not taken into account the fact that his mouth was at least 4 or more inches in front of his face, it plunged into the water much sooner than he'd expected and he ended up inhaling it.

“Why are you drinking like a dog?” Dave demanded.

“Forgot to steal a cup.”

Trying a second time, he dipped only the tip into the stream and tried to form a seal with his lips. A few phantom murmurings observed his humiliation, being forced to drink from a creek like a fucking dog.

He wondered if there were any toxins in the creek that would do him in. He remembered how mountaineers would take iodine tablets with them on hikes in order to purify the mountain water they collected. He would have to make do with whatever mysterious chemicals he consumed. Vincent had forgotten to bring iodine tablets with him when he let the deer impale him.

When he was done, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and retreated from the stream. He thought he would take a seat under a nearby tree to get out of the sunlight. His hope was that he'd be able to lean his back against the trunk, but the tail got in the way.

So instead, he found a large stone and sat on it. It was the first time he felt “safe” enough to assess his situation. The chattering of the stream helped calm his senses so that he could collect his thoughts.

“Hey, don't get distracted.” Dave snapped.

“Right,” Vincent said, “the wound. What the hell do you expect me to do? Put Neosporin on it? Why the hell am I doing this? It can't be happening.”

“You have to check it Cordell, it may be infected.”

“Yeah, you said that about 10 times already. I swear Dave, I forgot how even complex personalities like you love to repeat yourselves.”

Vincent carefully unraveled the bandage, wincing as the process tore open the parts of the wound that had scabbed over. Seeing coagulated blood that had turned from blue to a dark green instead of from red to brown, was just one more strange aspect of this surreal nightmare.

If it had not been for the searing pain coming from the wound, he would not have known the alien arm was supposed to be his. After a few deep breaths, he managed to focus on the trickling of the stream. He thought about those creatures he had fled from.

“So...is that what I’ve been turned into?” he asked, “a fucking dragon? 'Yay'?”

Normally he hated the phantoms, but now he wanted the distraction because the cringe was nearly killing him. But there was no answer from Dave, only silence. He grabbed his arm and winced.

“You might be right,” he said, “this might get infected. It burns like hell. I wonder what they did to it in the real world, put the IV in the wrong spot?”

There was nothing he could do about it. But standing around and doing nothing seemed worse. Since he had no knowledge of this world's local flora or fauna, it was impossible for him to know whether or not any nearby plants could be used as antibiotics, assuming his “form” even reacted to them. If there was any logic at all to this place, then his blood sure as hell did not have hemoglobin in it.

So he figured the best thing he could do was to soak the bandage in the mountain water and hope the chill would reduce any swelling.

After wringing the torn bandage in the stream, he cleaned the wound and reapplied it. Upon closer inspection of his flesh, he noticed that what he thought were scales, were not actually scales. Rather, the skin seemed to imply scales with its subtle texture, but it was otherwise sleek. Not smooth, but not rough either. It made sense, because his form certainly did not feel cold-blooded and reptiles did not sweat.

So, Vincent wasn't human, but he was not exactly a reptile either. Judging from the violent reaction he had from inhaling water, he wasn’t amphibious. The dream was painful and tactile: He could see and touch it. But the brain was responsible for all of those senses. Surely a damaged one would be able to conjure such a convincing false reality?

A glimmer of light caught his eye as silvery forms glimmered in the stream, a school of fish undulated in its depths, weaving in between the aquatic grasses. As his arm continued to throb, he began to fume at the IRS's incompetence.

If they hadn't been such jackasses, if they hadn't designed such a convoluted system of bureaucratic bullshit, hadn't fucked with him, he wouldn't have been in this mess. He wouldn't have been forced to drive home in a storm while having a psychotic episode.

There was no telling how much brain damage or nerve damage the deer caused, not even counting the medical bills he’d be stuck with. He picked up a nearby stick and chucked it into the stream, scattering the fish. He watched the stick bob and pivot its way around the rocks, gathering momentum as it approached the cliff and disappeared over the threshold. That was the first time Vincent truly noticed the view.

Before, when he was focusing on getting the hell away from that creature, he didn't pay attention to the cliff. But now that he had time to take in the view, he realized how stunning it was. In the distance there were dark storm clouds, which provided a backdrop for one of the most striking panoramas he had ever seen.

Hundreds of ravines sculpted the meadows below. When the wind blew across the fields, the peculiar grasses, with their strange iridescent sheens, yielded waves of ever-changing colors that scanned across the plateaus.

As clouds passed overhead, their shadows raced over the jagged terrain like specters that defied gravity and friction. A herd of shimmering beasts pounced from one upheaval to the next in majestic leaps. Their iridescent skins reminded him of the signature flicker that marked a neon tetra fish's scales.

The mountains in the distance still gleamed with the sun’s light. It was as though huge chunks of volcanic glass tore through the crust of the land. There was a flicker of lightning in the distance, but it was still miles off. Plus the wind appeared to be blowing away from them, so Vincent wasn’t too concerned. He was simply amazed.

Where am I? he thought, staring at the pinnacles.

“You need to get going.” Dave said rather abruptly, breaking him out of his trance.

“Welcome back. Or were you enjoying the view as well?” Vincent stretched his arms forwards and felt a few bones pop.

“Don't give me lip Cordell, we need to get going.”

“Just let me rest.”

He was tired and his temper was suddenly short. A moment ago, he experienced the first tranquil moment since he woke up in this crazy place.

“You can't stay here, it's too open. You're tired. You need to find a place to lie down.”

“Fair enough.” Vincent slid off the rock and turned over so that he could crawl towards the trees to use them as crutches. Dave reminded him to grab the knife. He placed the handle in his mouth and tried to push through the brush but he didn't get far before the wings got caught on the branches. The sensation nearly sent him into a panic.

“Tuck them in your shirt.” Dave said, breaking the trance.

“Right, how the hell am I supposed to do that?!”

“What do you mean 'How do I do that?' just take your shirt off and tuck them in! Stop fiddling around and do it!” Dave snapped like an order.

“Who's the host? Who controls the body? Me! Look what I can do that you can't! Look, I'm moving my arms, where are your arms? Oh right, you don't have any because you're not even real. So shut the fuck up and let me do my thing.”

“A lot of good your arms did you when your mother died!”

“Get out. Go away,” Vincent commanded.

Vincent expected Dave to launch into another tirade, but he was answered with silence, save for a few whispers and ticks. He grabbed a nearby vine and began to pry it off the tree trunk it had been climbing. The creatures he had seen earlier had their wings restrained with some sort of belt.

It would be a lucky break if he could cut a length of vine and use it for the same purpose. A few hours ago, the thought of handling the wings would have sent him into another fit, but he was too tired to care. He couldn't think about it.

He pulled on the vine until it had been stripped from the entire trunk. It broke somewhere near the top and tumbled down in a heap. At first, he tried to reach around his back holding one end of the vine with one hand, in hopes of being able to grab it with the other hand. But the wings were in his way. It would have been like hoping to touch the back of his wrist by trying to stick his thumb through his palm.

So he tried another method. He draped the vine along the ground and lay on top of it. Grabbing one end in his hand, he rolled along the vine so that it “wrapped” around him. After giving himself plenty of room, he tied the best square knot he could manage without breaking it. Then he used the knife to cut off the excess length. The vine felt as though it would easily chafe his wings, but at least they would be less prone to snagging.

After brandishing the knife like a machete, he tried to hack his way through the foliage. Dave was right about yet another thing, it had been too open and he did need sleep. But if that creature decided to pursue him, he should at least throw it off. It had no idea that he was an innocent human being whose soul had been stuffed in an inhuman body. It probably did not even know what a human was.

Eventually he came upon a fallen tree whose uprooted bulb had torn a sizable hole in the ground. Vincent decided it would suffice. After clearing up some of the foliage, he tried to lie down and get some rest. But it became very apparent that lying on his back as he did on Earth would not work.

Not only did the tail prop up his back to an uncomfortable position, but the nerves in his wings were pinched. So then he tried to lie on his stomach and rest his head in his arms. But then his snout acted like a kickstand that uncomfortably propped up his neck. If he turned his head to the side, then the horns dug into his arms.

“Son of a bitch!!” he yelled. He grabbed the nearest thing to throw, which happened to be a stone.

Unfortunately, the stone hooked on his claws and changed the direction of his throw. It bounced off the bulb of the tree, came back and struck the side of his head. Reeling, he clasped his wound as blue blood trickled down his cheek. He was sick of this shit! Absolutely sick! He curled into a fetal position as the side of his skull throbbed and simply laid there, swearing. Eventually, the pain began to subside, and he closed his eyes.