Rewrite this story

Simeon

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his adrenal gland also hurt. Soon, he added his belly button and his femur to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been an elderly woman, or was it a man who was elderly? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He tenderly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the carrot-orange walls or the hubcap or the filing cabinet. He closed his eye and moaned trustingly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a prissy man carrying a battle axe walk into the room. The man laid the battle axe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Adios, looks like Mister Hellhound is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Incredible, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Simeon.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to squint. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Good Gravy, your questions always come in pairs?" Simeon walked to the refrigerator and got a fruit smoothie. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied blindly, feeling a bit more funny.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Senate that sent you here," Simeon replied slowly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the battle axe on the table next to Simeon.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Simeon who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a filing cabinet in the room. There was a cage on the filing cabinet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that cage, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Simeon blustered lovingly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the cage at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then crawled back to the bed and sat down. His pancreas was beginning to glow.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Simeon. He laughed out loud, then voiced "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a duck-billed platypus back there in the antique store." Simeon rapped his fingers on the table beside the battle axe.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a pencil. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Nickolas Wooten," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a solitary guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be storming on. Nice talking to you, Simeon."

Although his pancreas was still glowing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the battle axe. Simeon stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly petulant manner. Ignoring Simeon's emotional leer, he courteously rolled out of the room.

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