Greetings and salutations, my reading readers! Here comes another update! (yay) Easter shrimp for all who caught my little reference to a REALLY GOOD TV SHOW. But none for you, Zombie Smasher. C'mon, man, I put him in there for your benefit and you didn't catch it! *shun* Ok, not really, you can also have Easter shrimp. Cause I'm so nice. Get you umbella-ella-ellas out, folks! Here comes a downpour of depressing goop! (Why is it in goop form? The world may never know) Sorry it's so fooking short, the next one will be longer.
"Fuck." Wikus drew several deep breaths. "Fuck. Okay. Okay, let's do it. What, uh, what do I say?"
"Anything," one of the other Poleepkwa said as they positioned the equipment. "Just try to get his attention. Give him a reason to stay awake. Try to be soothing – he will be in more pain than you can imagine."
"I can imagine an awful fucking lot of pain," muttered the former human.
The team of prawns arranged the machine so that it hung above Christopher's head, a single electrical spike extending to just over what was left of his antennae.
The rust-colored prawn looked at Wikus. "Ready?"
No, I'm not fucking ready! He nodded anyway, eyes locked on his friend's face.
There was a sound like a taser hitting a chainsaw; the spike flashed red hot as it touched the comatose Poleepkwa's forehead. Christopher's beautiful tawny eyes flicked open.
And then he started screaming.
"Quickly, human!" A doctor shouted. "Speak to him; keep him from losing consciousness!"
Wikus stepped into Christopher's line of sight and spoke hurriedly. "Christopher! Chris, look, it's me, it's Wikus! C'mon, stay awake! Stay awake!"
The tortured Poleepkwa thrashed wildly, unaware of his surroundings, his only focus on the mind-splitting agony that coursed through every nerve and capillary. Wikus caught hold of his friend's shoulders, forced their gazes to meet.
"Chris! Just try to stay with us! Everything's gonna be okay, just… just stay conscious…"
Christopher's eyes rolled over the concerned ex-human's face, wheezing and gasping through his superfluous lungs. "Wikus?" he choked. "Wikus? S-so sorry. So sorry, Wikus, please, I- I tried to find... Hurts so much." His clicks were disjointed, broken sounds like shattered glass hitting a warped wooden floor.
Wikus cringed in sympathy and gripped Christopher's thin arms. "I know. I know it's bad, Chris, but just keep awake and fight through it, okay? You're going home; you're gonna be alright."
Christopher shuddered and lifted a crushed hand, his secondary arms unfolding like they had at the sight of the dissected prawn's corpse three years ago, reaching for Wikus. "Sorry… c-can't… trying—meant to tell you… I-I wanted to… sorry…please…"
One of the doctors shouted something but Wikus couldn't hear what he said. He stared into his friend's tormented eyes as they dimmed. With a final effort, Christopher murmured, "Missed you. Sorry," and clutched Wikus' hand weakly. Then his eyes closed again. Wikus made a piteous noise, an alien sob.
"No, no, no, NO! You stay the fuck awake, you fucking hear me?! FUCK! Fucking prawn, don't you fucking give up! No!" He screamed and ranted, but Christopher made no response. He'd fallen back into the empty space inside himself, lost to the world, his throat just barely moving with shallow breaths.