Having my brain poked and prodded while I’m awake is a surreal experience. Prick on one part, and I feel like thick goo is running down my left arm. Boink another, and I can hear my aunt Patel singing the 1995 Indian hit,
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“Why are you soaking wet?”
Scamper reeled back from his best friend, HearSay, to avoid the shower as the awkward, towering droid dripped water from the ragged trench coat draped on his thin frame. HearSay brandished three glimmering fish impaled on his makeshift spear for Scamper
“Wake up!” a man barks through a respirator mask as he raps his baton across the window my head rests against.
I stretch open my drugged eyelids and meet an unrecognizable world. I’m waking up to falling ash and a crimson sky.
“It’s the
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