I was awakened by a massive hang-over. My head pounded like a wrecking ball demolishing a building with grave ferocity. My eyes, blood shot, were still trying to regain focus after a minute or two of seeing the sun straight in its position. It almost felt like a scene of the average movie or even a book were the protagonist wakes up with a massive hangover and somehow finds the nerve to solve a complex crime. Cliché at best; but no, this was something totally different. Yes it was true that I liked to drink but never to this unimaginable outcome. Once my vision came back and I was more than able to realize where I was. I looked down at myself and felt the strong, sharp pain of shock disembowel my whole being. My hands, now replaced by tentacles, felt numb as they wiggled to my demand.
How in the hell…?
Somehow, I had drank myself to the point that either I had lost my mind or I was being heavy handedly pranked by one of my friends. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and opened them once again. Nothing had changed, my arms were still tentacles, sweating profusely from the sun and my head still felt like it were about to implode. Not only was I being a victim of a short burst of insanity but everything followed a certain profile and even so, I was not even close to being a protagonist of any artistic endeavor. I was the outcast, the one character no one knew about, cared about or even thought existed.
Like a mad man I smiled as a silly memory came to mind. Back in high school my friends used to call me octopus hands because of my ways around women. I’m not trying to brag but at times, my hands worked ‘em girls more than any shift at a strip club. This had to be a prank. Maybe one of those girls from the… I paused for a second there, somehow I couldn’t remember anything that had happened the previous night. My mind was a total blur, filled with maggots for intelligence and rocks for memories. Everything was just a piece of bleak darkness bouncing around in my empty skull.
In order to make sense of it all, I had to find clues and trace them back, hopefully recovering my memory during the process. I got up and took off my shirt; it was stained with vomit and reeked of cheap vodka and other alcoholic beverages. I was astonished by the marks on my arms. Somebody or something had somehow managed to cut off the lower part of my arms and stitched me up with the tentacles. They had done a really good job too; the scar had almost disappeared. But it almost felt like a dream.
How is this even humanly possible?
to be continued…