…GAS NEED GAS GAS GAS GAS GAS…
I woke up to a car driving itself, somewhere on a highway, on our way to New York City. My chauffeur, the car itself, had a gas-hungry tank, and me a food-wanting stomach. As imagined, it took me a few minutes to orient myself. I saw a sign for a rest stop with food and gas. Perfect.
"Turn left", I directed.
…GAS AS YOU SAY GAS…
"Um, what type of gas do you, uh, eat?" I asked as we pulled into the station.
…UNLEADED…
The car's 'voice' in my head answered. I looked at the pump blankly. I'd never seen anything like this before. The tall chrome box towered over me, and four, oily, foreign looking tube/hook things stuck into it. A little screen at the top said: HELLO, HOW CAN I HELP YOU? Which certainly didn't help me. I waited for it to speak. Nothing happened, so I spoke to It.
"Psst, pump, can you talk to me?" No answer. Doing the only sensible thing left to do, I hooked up the tube labeled UNLEADED to the car, and, palms sweaty, I hit a few buttons and hoped for the best. I guess I got lucky (it seemed like I'd been running on luck lately…), and before I knew it, I had a full tank of gas. We (yes, we) pulled into the parking lot.
"Don't let anyone in but me", I commanded, remembering the lock at 'home'.
I strolled into the fast food diner. Instinctively, I looked around the room. From the hazy, dim atmosphere, couldn't see anyone who looked wolfish in any way. Phew.
The cashier beckoned towards me.
"Can I help you?" She asked in a bored, high, and slightly nasal voice.
"Yes, I would like to order um, 2 jumbo breakfast sandwiches, 3 plain bagels, 5 tabs of cream cheese, 3 bottles of water, and a coffee."
Pencil thin eyebrows raised, the blonde asked," Hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, that'll be $10.50."
I sat down at a table near the window and sank my teeth into one of the hot, cheesy, greasy sandwiches. It was in my stomach in about, well, I'd say, 3 minutes. I listened to the cash register complain about a faulty lock, doors groan over achy hinges, and scores of other mechanisms who all had something to talk about.
Around me, I saw these rugged men staring at me. Erasers. Staring. At. Me.
Casually, looking each one of the 6 men in the eye, I calmly got up, walked to the door across the room, and ran. I didn't have to look behind me to know they had followed. The shocked gasps and screams told me enough.
Ignoring my still-throbbing left arm, I threw up my hands defensively, cracking one of the 4 long, scabby gashes that had developed. Crimson blood dripped down my fingers and mixed with the grey gravel under my feet.
"Who are you guys?" I spat. They laughed.
"Now whose business is that?"
"Mine!" I snarled. I was really upset now.
Another one said, "Ooh, she has a temper!" Then, a seventh wolf-boy stepped out. I knew him. From somewhere. I used my superhuman (?) strength to sprint back to the car. Back to the highway, I thought, 60 mph.
…OK…
More long forgotten memories filled my head:
…AGE 5…WHITECOATS…HIM (again)…SURGERIES WITHOUT ANETHSTETICS…A BLONDE GIRL WITH…WINGS?…A FIELD OF ERASERS…RUNNING…RUNNING…
I fell asleep with these disturbing thoughts in my head.
