Your mind reels, but there is not time for asking the questions you want answered. Why are you here? How is this possible? What is this place? Where did my pajamas go? Who dressed me in black leather from head to toe? At least it’ll offer more protection than my flannel PJ’s, you think.

Going front is out of the question; you’re not a strong swimmer. To the left looks bad, but that may be because you just finished watching Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ before bed. The right doesn’t seem wise, but you’ve always hated being condescended, haven’t you. You should work on your pride but probably not now.

Having exhausted other options, you spin quickly sending dirt flying with your heels as you flee the water’s edge. You high step and leap over brutishly swung, clawed appendages. Your feet skid and crunch over the jewel encrusted hides. With only a smattering of hope your eyes are glued to the jungle trees, a glimmer of possibility that you won’t be followed through the dense undergrowth.