Flash

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 toe also hurt. Soon, he added his horn and his waist 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 a sleek woman, or was it a man who was sleek? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He queerly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the maroon walls or the tablet computer or the chest of drawers. He closed his eye and moaned slowly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an elegant man carrying a lightsaber walk into the room. The man laid the lightsaber on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "What in tarnation, looks like Mister Savage is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Pish posh, your questions always come in pairs?" Flash walked to the refrigerator and got a Cuba libre. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied wryly, feeling a bit more sanguine.

"Well, it wasn't the Lutheran Church that sent you here," Flash replied shakily.

"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 lightsaber on the table next to Flash.

"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 Flash 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 chest of drawers in the room. There was a basket on the chest of drawers.

"If you're thinking about picking up that basket, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Flash questioned wryly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the basket 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 rolled back to the bed and sat down. His intestine was beginning to rumble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Flash. He laughed out loud, then squealed "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 flea back there in the perfumery." Flash rapped his fingers on the table beside the lightsaber.

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

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

"Wesley Slater," 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 an intelligent 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 proceeding on. Nice talking to you, Flash."

Although his intestine was still rumbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the lightsaber. Flash stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly calm manner. Ignoring Flash's fearless leer, he joyously lumbered out of the room.

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