I get swallowed whole… and end up in a white space.

My injuries are gone. The creature is gone.

I must have died.

“I must have died.”

“I must have died.”

My thoughts vibrate through the air and echo back at me from a distance.

I study my surroundings. It is just me. There is nothing of import. Nothing but white space surrounds me.

Where is the boy? Did he die, no?

“Where is the boy?” “Where is the boy?”

“Did he die, no?” “Did he die, no?”

I do not like this.

“I do not like this.”

“I do not like this.”

I take a few steps forward.

“Hey!” I shout.

Screech!

A dreadful, ear-piercing shriek responds. My body vibrates. My head pounds. I grab my temples and dig my nails in. I squint and tear.

Screech!

This ear-piercing scream reverberates from somewhere above me. I look up. My eyes widen. Bile bursts through my mouth. I desperately attempt to keep it down, but it overflows, stinging my nostrils and the back of my throat.

A heinous two-headed creature floats overhead. Three broken appendages plastered with sparse, pale feathers jut out at cumbersome angles from this beast. Each crown an embryotic fowl-shaped head, snap at the air, blind and dumb. No talons, just two short stubs protrude out the creature’s hind; the body a stumpy mash of leathery skin and pale plumage.

Screech!

The bird-beast sways in the air. Something slithers in betwixt the creature’s folds.

Hissss!

A threadlike snake beast is wrapped around the foul creature. Fangs strike at the leathery mass; the bird-thing shakes.

Screech!

My stomach is on fire. Bile keeps erupting from me. Traces of blood start spouting out of orifices. My eyes swell. They tremble with each gut-wrenching heave.

Screech!

I faint.

...

No! I must wake!

I open my eyes and welcome the scorching rays of the sun. I am back.

My eyes shift to a copious mass of vena and paunch laying at my side. The snake-head is no more. Its crown seems to have burst from the inside out. Only the tail-end of the creature shows any sign of life; it moves ever so slightly, on a nerve-end.

With an unsteady hand, I reach for the paunch.

It is motionless.

“The boy is dead,” my angel says.

No!

I cry. My eyes are sore. The taste of acid fills my mouth.

“No,” my voice cracks in a whisper.

Someone approaches me.