He heard the door slam. He tried to turn around and reach it before it was destroyed, but he was dizzy. He had been hit in the head too many times and his fronds had been pulled so hard that he still didn't have his balance after being thrown into this strange world. It still didn't feel real. He reached for the door, bleary eyed. It opened to a child's closet, clothes and toys. Where, how, what? His mind was a jumble of partly formed questions. He desperately had to find another door, before the power went out in all of them. He went through the first door he saw without really thinking. The only thing going through his mind was how much he had to get home, had to fix the mess which that fool had created. I'm going to kill him. That overgrown human-lover, I'm going to kill him for doing this to me.
He realized too late exactly where he was and what it meant to be there. When he opened the door, a small human, maybe about 10 years old was standing in a shabby hallway, staring at him. He had been reaching for the door to his room. Randall was too disoriented still to camouflage himself. The reality of his situation still hadn't sank in. He tried to scare the boy away, but all he could manage was a low growl. The boy backed up and went into another room. Randall followed the boy in half a daze, still trying to find the door that he so desperately needed. He heard the boy say something, but couldn't quite make out what it was. The words were heavily accented, and improperly formed. He did hear something about a "gator" whatever that was, and the words "the house". He stumbled into a dingy room, confused, trying to find another bedroom with a closet door before he ran out of time. Then he heard another voice. It was even more difficult to understand than the boy's voice, but he did catch the word, "shovel". Animals, he thought, can't even speak properly.
Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his head, then his chin. He couldn't react. He tried to think. He was being attacked. Shovel! He thought. A human female that he had not noticed before was hitting him in the head with a shovel. He knew that he didn't have the faculties to fight back, not right now. He was in shock, and nothing felt real. He had to get away. He had to hide. He pushed everything else from his mind but the urge to hide, and finally felt himself blend. Run! He told himself. His legs weren't working as well as they should have been, but they did carry him in the direction that he wanted to go, away from the humans. He could hear them shouting incoherently behind him as he exited the trailer. It was dark outside, too dark for him to see, and he had no way of knowing where he was in relation to anything else. He began to feel panicked as he the reality set in. He was trapped in the human world, and he didn't know what part of the world he was in.
Stop it, pull yourself together, use your senses. You can do this. He reached up to stroke his fronds, which he often used as a gesture to calm himself when stressed. This time, he remembered too late that they were still sore from being pulled so hard. He did calm down a little, but now he was in even more pain than before. He focused through it. He still couldn't see, his eyesight had never been that great, especially not at night. He could hear though, and there were sounds everywhere. Most were obviously animal sounds, but ones that he had never heard before. There was another sound, distant, the sound of moving vehicles. He decided to move towards that. He couldn't let himself be seen by more humans until he was ready to deal with them, but he thought that if he could get to whatever these creatures' excuse for civilization was, there a possibility of learning something about his surroundings. He began the difficult task of traveling in the dark to an unknown location.
He soon realized that he was in a swamp. That narrowed it down at least a bit. The humans that he had encountered had spoken English. It was an odd dialect of English, and poorly spoken, but English nonetheless. Form what he knew of human geography that he had learned while scaring, the only place in the human world that had a swamp populated by English speakers was the Southern United States. Southern American humans were known for their stupidity and their aggression. Randall remembered that the most isolated Southern American kids were some of the hardest to scare. Some even had weapons on rare occasions. Randall snarled in disdain at the thought of being forced to stay for any length of time in this barbaric world. When I get my hands on that big, blue jackass! Him and that one eyed creep.
He smiled to himself thinking of all the ways that he could get his revenge. It was all Sullivan's fault. Sullivan had overshadowed him and ruined his reputation. Sullivan had stolen the child. Sullivan had broken his beloved machine. Sullivan driven him to the breaking point. And Sullivan had illegally banished him to this stinking, human infested place. Randall was no longer smiling, but his anger did give him sharper senses through the pain that he still felt in his head. He was still struggling to make it to the road that he could hear beyond the trees, but he had made some progress. He was covered in mud, and the wetness seemed to be actively pulling the heat from his body. Randall noticed that it wasn't just the mud. The air was getting colder as the night progressed. He felt himself slowing down as the heat left his body. As a reptile, Randall relied on external heat sources to keep himself active. Right now, in the monster world, it was Spring, and warm enough that Randall did not have to worry too much about his temperature. But that fact obviously didn't necessarily correlate to the human world. He would have to find shelter soon, before he got too cold to move. Damn you, Sullivan, I'll kill you for this.
By the time he actually made it to the road, he could barely move. There was a glowing sign over a building that said "Louisiana Creole Cookin' Truck Stop" and a street lamp over deserted road. So, Louisiana, that's where I am. Ok. Nothing here but redneck humans and swamp. Where do I want to be? Not here. Home. Can't go home. Not yet. Bed. Sleep. Focus. Where to go. North. Somewhere more populated. Find a closet door to go through. North then... to a city... Gotta... get... His mind was becoming slower by the minute. As luck would have it, a large truck drove up to the building with the neon sign and stopped under an overhang. As the human trucker went into the building, Randall went to read the license plate. He did his best to stay blended as he entered the light from the overhang. He finally got close enough to read the plate with his eyes squinted. Virginia. The truck was from Virginia. It would have to do. Randall used the last of his strength to open the sliding door in the back of the truck. He didn't even notice what it's cargo was as he crawled in. He was freezing cold, hurt to a degree that he was still unsure of, and exhausted to the point of collapse. He closed the door behind him and curled up miserably on the truck's metal floor. There was nothing left to do but whimper until he fell into a delirious sleep.