Metamorphosis

"Uuunnhh. Nnngghh."

His first memory was one of blinding pain. Unimaginable agony that lasted, thankfully, only a moment before quickly easing to a low, dull aching throb, like a toothache. Just a toothache that consisted of his entire body.

Softly panting he simply laid there for a while, resting, while his mind seemed to whirl like a pinwheel. It felt like parts of him had been stretched while other parts of him had been squished. A quite decidedly odd, and definitely uncomfortable, feeling. His tummy was queasy and, making that worse, much worse, was a rapidly growing fear. He simply couldn't remember anything, not a single thing.

Well, that wasn't quite true. It was as if memories were there. Just at the tip of his fingers. But every time he tried clutching one it slipped away, like trying to grasp a snowflake in the middle of a howling blizzard. And it seemed to get harder and harder the more he tried until, finally, he just gave up for now and lay there, shivering and trembling.

Gradually the pain faded, shifting through dull discomfort until finally disappearing, although he still felt . . . Odd. Awkward and clumsy. Again he had the most amazing, fleeting feeling of having been stretched and pulled, squished and compressed, as if he'd been taffy or putty.

Little by little he started becoming aware of other things, too. He felt chilly, for one. Both the stone he lay atop and the air around him felt clammy and dank and cool. And the air! . . . ugh! It had an awful, noisome stench to it. Wait . . . stone!?

His cheek was resting against gritty stone. Something he noticed quite easily once he'd rolled more onto his tummy, rested his palms flat on that surface then lifted his head up a bit, finally opening his eyes. Raising one hand a moment he pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked around at last . . . and shuddered as he took his first look around.

It was the oddest 'dark' he'd ever seen. It certainly wasn't daylight, that was for certain sure! But it also wasn't night night, either. The only description he could think of that fit was some sort of eerie, gloomy, dismal twilight. As if the gloom itself gave off some sort of creepy, unnatural illumination. And the fog!

That was just as eerie and spooky as the gloom. Thick tendrils of ghastly, nasty-smelling vapor twisted and twined everywhere! And while there wasn't a breeze to be felt, those crepuscular coils twisted and snaked about, almost as if alive.

He couldn't think of a scarier, most depressing and gloomy place if he'd tried. And, honestly, really the very last thing he wanted to do right then was try and picture that!

Suddenly he felt his breath catch, felt his eyes widen like saucers behind his glasses as he glanced down at his hands. They had to be his hands; they were attached to his arms, after all. And then he noticed his arms, and his mind started whirling again, leaving him feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

One of those elusive memories flitted by, lingering just long enough to confirm what he'd already, instinctively known: neither his hands nor his arms were supposed to be brown. A uniform, smooth and unblemished bark brown, except for nails which were a somewhat lighter, acorn-ish brown. He slowly pushed up on his knees, staring wide-eyed at his hands, turning them palm-up then palm-down, just staring at them.

And then his jaw dropped even further when he rubbed fingers against his other arm. It not only looked like wood, it felt like wood, too! Like finely sanded, and highly polished, wood. But wood that, somehow, also felt warm and alive. Slowly, clumsily, he clambered up off his knees and stood, feeling legs wobbly from shock, and also feeling oddly . . . unbalanced. As if he wasn't quite used to his legs and arms and body. Which was silly, of course. But that's what it felt like!

He quickly noticed it wasn't just his hands and arms that looked that way. All of him that he could check, save for his fingernails, was that same, uniform color. Like he'd been dipped in stain or dye or something. He suspected his toenails probably looked like his fingernails, too, but as he was currently wearing boot moccasins he couldn't tell. Then that jogged another memory almost loose.

Whatever he was wearing felt . . . peculiar. Unusual. Why, he couldn't quite say. But they obviously were his clothes, because they did fit him. Fit him perfectly, in fact.

First off were the boot moccasins. They looked like Indian-style boot moccasins (and for a moment 'Indian' meant something to him before that memory fluttered off lost again), except fashioned of sturdy leather rather than soft suede. And brown; what a surprise he thought. Then there was a short-sleeved tunic, the bottom reaching just above his knees with a split at front and back. That, too, was brown, although of a lighter, warmer color, and felt like coarse linen. Coarse, just not rough. It wasn't like burlap or canvas but it also wasn't as fine-woven as silk. There was a leather belt and a small leather belt pouch, too. And, again, brown.

Pushing his glasses back up he slowly looked around, wrapping arms around him as he shuddered. Wherever this was, whatever this place was, he didn't like it, nope, not at all! And making that worse was having no idea, none at all, of where he was, or why he was there and, most importantly, who he was. But the one thing he was for certain sure about was he didn't want to stay here.

Things quickly disappeared in that gloomy fog, but what he could see around him wasn't exactly relieving. He was standing atop some sort of, well, road. More of a causeway, actually, since it seemed as much bridge as it did road, twisting and winding its way over frightening, yawning gullies and chasms and through rolling, bare hills. It wasn't level, either, so he had three choices: walk off the side of the road and off into those scary, frightening woods (which didn't at all appeal to him), or plod uphill, or trudge downhill. He found himself already walking the downhill way before he realized it, almost as if something was urging him along. And since it was easier to walk down than up he just kept plodding along, keeping to the dead center of the rough, cracked and dusty road and far away from the uneven, irregular borders.

As he walked along he slowly became aware of some unsettling things. There were no bushes or shrubs or flowers. There was no grass. There weren't even weeds! And a road this old, this decrepit, should certainly have weeds sprouting up! That's what weeds did, after all! But all he saw were a few old, dead trees. At least they looked dead. They were bare of leaves, their branches thrusting skeletally up into the air, trunks grayish and hoary with age. He'd have thought they were just bare from winter, except it didn't feel like winter. Plus there were no sign of fallen leaves or other litter. Pausing at one he more closely looked at it. Poor thing, it felt like it was still alive but just too hopeless and despairing to sprout leaves.

And while there was no obvious sign of life —no twittering, chirping birds, no scolding jays or squirrels, no buzzing bees or droning flies— he just couldn't shake the feeling of eyes upon him. Eyes that meant him no good will. Eyes that gleefully followed him. Wicked eyes that patiently waited, knowing that soon he would be theirs.

He'd been walking for some time, feeling more and more scared and alone and lost, when he finally jerked to a stop, his ears perking forwards. He'd heard a noise, the very first sound he'd heard save for his own breathing and the scuff of his moccasins. It was a very odd sound, too, and one that was quickly growing louder, which meant closer.

Within half a minute he jerked again, his mind finally making sense of the noise: a semi-rhythmic rumble, then grind, then burped cough. It sounded like an engine; one in very bad need of a tune-up, an engine straining to make its way up the sloped road . . . and towards him.

For a moment he was delighted to hear that sound, for that meant he'd finally see someone. But no sooner had recognition dawned than a terrible sense of fear descended upon him. He didn't know why. He couldn't explain it. He just knew, beyond any question, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he needed to hide. That the very last thing he wanted to happen was being spotted and seen. He didn't think, he didn't guess; he knew.

Panicked now, he looked left, then right, then all around, feeling his chest tighten with fear, his heart pound with dread. He had to hide, he had to! But there was nowhere to hide!

Looking back the way he'd come he saw a wizened, bent tree just off the side of the road about a hundred feet away. He was already racing up the road towards it before he'd even thought. It wasn't much as a hiding place but it would have to do as his only other choices were jumping off one side of the road and down into a gully, or racing off the other side and into that awful, frightening woods, and neither of those appealed to him in the least!

Skidding to a stop he leapt off the road and dashed over to the tree, crouching behind it and pressing tight. It wasn't much but, between the twilight and the gloom, surely whoever (or whatever, he thought with a shiver) it was wouldn't likely see him as they drove by.

Whoever (or whatever) he'd pictured, the reality hit him like a punch to the tummy when the source of the noise finally hove into view. He literally gasped, doubling over in shock before shaking like a leaf in one of Stormy's tempests. One, two, three, right in a row, he felt the sledgehammer jolt of disbelieving recognition.

First was the vehicle that coughed and sputtered and belched its way towards him. His eyes rounded spotting that. It . . . it couldn't be! It just couldn't!

But it was, and certainly could be. There was no mistaking the Grunge Buggy for anything else. And that meant . . .

That meant the creature driving it had to be Lurky. And where there was Lurky . . .

"Keep going, keep going oh please just keep going," he whispered, quaking in terror as he hid, that tree suddenly feeling much too small to be any use at all in hiding. He had no idea at all, at all!, how he'd known what that was and who they were. But knew them he did, and not for a moment did he question that absolute conviction.

"Stop! Stop! I said stop, lame-brain!" a voice yelled out as the Grunge Buggy sputtered by, and he whimpered, pressing tighter against the tree, willing himself to, somehow, go invisible. Or something! With an awful screech the Grunge Buggy fishtailed to a stop, not twenty feet away from him!

"What are we stoppin' for Murky? We're not back at da Pits yet."

"I know that banana brain!" growled who could only be Murky. "That's part of my Master Plan!" he sniggered.

Daring a peek around the tree he quickly pulled his head back, wishing he hadn't. For jogging right towards him was Murky!

"Oh right! The Master Plan!" Lurky repeated. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! The Master Plan!" he chortled. "Uh . . . what's da Master Plan Murky?"

By then Murky had stopped right by the tree, and he was certain he'd been seen. Murky was only five or so feet away, after all! He pushed tighter against the tree, his heart pounding so hard and so fast he was certain Murky could hear it! He kept pushing and pushing, trying harder and harder to mold himself to the trunk and keep from being seen, his eyes tightly closed as if that could help, too.

Then he almost gasped, feeling the oddest, most incredible sensation. His eyes popped open, then widened to saucers. He was staring right at Murky! Right in his eyes, in fact! But Murky wasn't acting at all like he could see him! Which was a very very good thing, he thought with an intense shudder. For Murky wasn't looking at all comical or clownish. Didn't look at all like a buffoon or goof. There was a manic, truly wicked and evil gleam to his eyes. Eyes that glittered with a twisted sense of genius.

He didn't believe, not for a moment, that Murky could effectively invent or create a 'plan' that would ever work or succeed, true. But that was a bit hard to accept when you were unfortunate enough to be staring right into those eyes of his!

Murky lay down on his belly, right at the side of the road, then leaned way over. "What's the first thing that Rainbow brat or those Color Kids do after I've been to Rainbow Land and taken something or someone?"

Lurky scratched his head. "Uhhh . . . uhhhh . . . tricked you and took it back?"

"Grrrrrrrr," Murky growled, a literal growl at that, a ferocious scowl on his face. "No, bird-brain! Not that!" Reaching down he carefully prized a small cobble from the side of the road, revealing a dank, dark hole. He stuffed something inside then jammed the cobble back in place. Standing up he dusted off his hands then glared at Lurky.

"The first thing they do is come right to the Pits to get it back. They always do that. And they'll do the same thing this time! Except, this time . . . !" he hopped into the side car, leaning his head back and laughed and laughed. "To the Pits Lurky! We have a welcome to get ready!"

With a grinding of gears Lurky started up the Grunge Buggy, which belched a truly hideous, noxious cloud of exhaust before sputtering it's way up the road and quickly vanishing from sight.

"Whew!"

He gustily exhaled, his legs feeling like jelly. He had no idea how Murky had missed seeing him but he sure wasn't complaining, oh no! He just never would have believed that old tree had been big enough to hide behind!

"Oh wow!"

That was an awed whisper as suddenly he noticed something. Something very important. Something that, quite understandably, he'd overlooked before. He wasn't standing behind the tree. He was standing inside the tree!

He slowly looked around. Yup, no mistake. He was inside the tree. How, he had no idea. But he was. It didn't look, or feel, any different than it did standing in air. We-ell . . . just a little different, he decided after thinking hard on that. The 'air' felt a little bit, well, thicker. Not as thick as if moving through water, no. Nowhere near like that. Actually it was pretty hard to explain and, after a few moments, he simply shrugged and accepted it.

What was harder to accept was the slowly growing feeling of despair and hopelessness. Oh, he'd never see sunlight again. Never. And he was so dry and thirsty. And he'd never bud again, never feel springtime sap coursing through him ever again.

Hey, waitaminnute! Springtime sap? Bud again?

He was sensing the tree's feelings!

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Thank you for hiding me. I wish I could help. I don't even have water or I'd give you some. But don't give up, ok? If I can ever do anything for you I will. Promise."

A feeling like summer sunshine flowed over him for a moment, and suddenly he felt much better. Slowly stepping forwards he walked out of the tree, breathing a sigh of relief. He hadn't been at all sure he could do that (since he'd no idea how he'd managed to step inside to begin with) and was greatly relieved at how easy it was to just walk out.

Then again, walking out of the tree meant walking back into the Pits, which wasn't exactly what he'd chose if he'd had a choice.

His knees still felt wobbly so he leaned back against the tree, especially since his mind felt just as wobbly. That had definitely been Murky Dismal and Lurky. Even if he hadn't recognized them they'd called each other by name. And if they were Murky and Lurky than this was unquestionably the Pits. And that meant . . .

His breath caught in his throat. Then that meant there was also a Rainbow Land. And that was here, too!

Suddenly a wealth of names and images flooded his head. He gave a soft cry and fell to his knees, hands clapped to his head as they swamped his mind. Rainbow Brite. Starlite. Twink. Red Butler. Oh, and a whole host of others! That was bad enough but the truly disturbing, puzzling thing was that he felt he should already know them. Or know of them at any rate. This felt like staring off into a utterly black sky and seeing, one by one, stars appear, and somehow knowing what each one was as it flickered and flared into brilliant life.

Well, if Murky and Lurky were going that way, he reasoned, than Rainbow Land should be that way. Pushing off from the tree he gave it a kindly, farewell pat to the hoary, gray trunk then started to clamber up onto the road. He'd feel a lot safer, and a lot less afraid and lost, once he was in Rainbow Land, that was for sure!

But something made him pause.

"The first thing they do is come right to the Pits to get it back. They always do that. And they'll do the same thing this time! Except, this time . . . !"

He remembered Murky's gloating, gleeful laughter. He had something terrible and wicked in mind, and he wondered what, if anything, that might have to do with whatever it was he'd tucked away and hidden behind that stone.

Honestly, one of the very last things he wanted to do was play around with anything Murky had touched. Whatever was behind that stone was, like as not, some sort of evil, diabolical trap. Nibbling his lip he considered things. If it was meant as a trap, he reasoned, it was a rather subtle one. After all, it wasn't at all likely anyone would ever notice that stone. Not from up on the road, anyway. And even down here it was just one stone amongst many. So what was the point?

Taking a deep breath he reached out, lower lip between his teeth as he grasped the stone. Wiggling it back and forth he carefully eased it free, revealing a dark opening. Swallowing hard he reached inside and blindly groped about. With his luck it was probably a huge rat . . . or something even worse.

But to his vast relief all he felt was something soft. Taking hold he pulled it out . . .

Then dropped the stone as his jaw dropped . . . as what he'd removed unexpectedly unrolled . . . unfurling into a long, wide rainbow ribbon with a five pointed gold star at one end.