First Meal

The music stops and suddenly breathing sounds like gongs on a subway. The lights are blinking, or maybe I am, and suddenly all I can fixate on is the weird empty sensation in my stomach. I’m hungry. And not wanting a slurp hungry, like I haven’t had a fix in a while and I don’t care about anything else hungry. I’m irritable about it hungry. The doctor starts explaining that there might be an adjustment period as the cure takes effect and the nurse leaves to get me a glass of water. “You might be re-experiencing some biological functions that you haven’t felt in years, decades even,” he says while I start looking around a bit more. I’m not tied or restrained to the bed, which makes me feel better for about a second. I lunge forward to take the doctor hostage only to have all the blood rush to my head and all the energy drain out of me. I haven’t been weak in a long time either. The doctor takes a step back, startled, but he figures out the score pretty fast. “Now, I realize you might not exactly have been expecting this. Our operatives tagged you just before you could take another innocent life. We came upon you quite on accident, Mr. Shade.” I’m all ears as I lay back in bed trying to figure out which the way room isn’t spinning. A knock on the door and the nurse comes back in, a glass of water and a covered dish. “Before we talk more, we’re going to need to get you adjusted back to being human. Perhaps something to eat, something you’re used to?” He pulls back the cover and there’s a barely cooked steak on the plate. For a second I think he’s making a joke.