fluids actually were being pumped into my cardiovascular system and the orange ones were being sucked out. The shape moved, I knew the overload had not been enough to force me to stop blocking the form of the aliens, and it was over me again.
A glint of light caught my attention and I knew a probe was coming. The scalpel slashed down, flaying open a crevice above my left ear. The probe started its whining, why did it have to make a noise, even in my dreams, and it drilled through the soft exposed brain matter. It stopped and I started to whimper and then let out a long scream from the bottom of my soul - I knew what came next. The deep utter cold sounded above my ear and then the pressure built.
As it came to a crescendo, I knew not which was the dream: the hospital or the snatching. Was I reliving it or was I still caught in the moment?
I wasn't afraid for my humanity any more, so I cried the tears which I had always held back. They rolled down into my ear canals. The small apologetic pop where the probe had been was anticlimactic. The shape began to resolve itself and I feared the worst. She was beautiful, it was the worst. I cried then, not from fear or pain like before, but to test my humanity.
I waited for the smile, I knew it was coming. It was one of benediction instead of the normal wistful one, the one that said I didn't measure up to standards. She said something, I don't know what, but it was a voice and a language which haunted my troubled sleep. Her words caressed the crevice and it melded back together; I don't know if it left the probe in or melted it.
She bent over, her tongue dipped out and caught up my tears. She savored them.
I started to fall toward the fiery pit, once more cast down from above. I knew it wouldn't help, but I screamed anyway, dreading not the impact, but rather the whips of the denizens of below. Soft hands cupped me and billowy white feathers shielded me from the furnace.
I woke up, strapped down, with Colonel Stram, I mean Henry, just staring at me. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and in his bifocals, I saw they were streams of green and orange.
I sat up, to this day I don't know how the straps had come undone, and leisurely dressed in the outfit laid out for my big adventure in fitting back into society. I didn't hurry, Henry wasn't going anywhere - I think he had gone along for part of the ride.
I snaked the pen from his fingers, opened the transcript, and scribed "Patient discharged on his own recognizance."
Whistling a tune from my childhood, I exited the little drama.
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