Jeremy

  “Oh. My. God. What. Am. I?”

  Jeremy stared at the mirror. Enormous eyes protruding from his skull, now a greenish yellow with wide diamond-shaped pupils, stared back at him. When he blinked, a translucent membrane shot upward from the bottom of his eye. Two small holes replaced his nose, and his mouth stretched nearly ear to ear. Jeremy’s face as he remembered it: dark, handsome, friendly, glasses, and glorious braids, gone replace by the visage of Kermit the Frog stripped of felt and whimsy.

  Of all things...why a frog?

  He looked down at his bare, webbed feet with only three toes spread against the floor. His clothes remained the same, though his ratty Pokémon T-shirt and baggy cargo looked a little worse for wear. Jeremy thanked God he wasn’t naked at least. He doubted he was ready to see what the transformation had done to him…ahem...down there.

  Either my body transformed, or my mind was transferred into a frog-like creature-man. And where the hell am I? Who the hell are these guys? What language are they speaking? I’m not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  Jeremy felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands clenched into fists as sweat beaded on his forehead. This was too much.

  The strangers seemed decent, but he would remain cautious, on guard.

  Of course, at this point, what do I have to lose? I have nothing for them to steal, and they could’ve hurt me already.

  The one who’d offered him a handkerchief gestured toward the table. The other, the hugger, pulled out a wooden stool. They clearly wanted him to sit. Jeremy obeyed, scanning the table: plates, napkins, two-tined forks, and ladle-shaped spoons. A bowl of steaming soup sat beside a plate with a mysterious…meat substance.

  “I guess I interrupted dinner,” Jeremy muttered. Both men nodded and smiled.

  “Soren.” Handkerchief mimed eating. “Elvar.” He lifted a cup to his lips.

  Soren must mean eat, and I guess elvar means drink.

  Jeremy examined the cup first. Clear water, dotted with floating leaves and petals. He sipped—and nearly moaned. Crisp, impossibly clean, bright with lemony herbs. He downed it in two gulps. Handkerchief laughed and refilled it.

  Jeremy never drank water. He preferred the red Mountain Dew, but he would drink all flavors if offered to him. He could drink this water, though!

  Well, they’re not poisoning me, he decided, and turned to the food.

  The meat resembled ground beef but peanut?butter tan in color.

  I could be about to eat some weird animal’s brains or testicles for all I know, Jeremy recalled a scene in an Indiana Jones movie where they ate monkey brains and eyeball soup.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He scooped a small portion onto the fork and sniffed it. The men encouraged him with smiles and nods. It wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t good either, but he didn’t want to be rude. Chewing proved difficult as Jeremy realized his human teeth were gone, replaced with tiny nubs of teeth on his upper jaw.

  What the hell? I guess it would be weird to have human teeth in a frog’s mouth. He almost laughed at the thought of huge white teeth in his mouth.

  Without proper teeth, he maneuvered the food around his mouth then swallowed it whole. His eyes involuntarily blinked and sank slightly as the food went down.

  He forced a moan. “Mmmm,” hoping the sentiment translated.

  The broth suited his palate better than the meat. Like chicken stock kissed with mint. He finished it quickly, only then noticing that neither man had begun eating.

  He cleared his throat, “Soren. Elvar.”

  They both lit up, clapping with their hands and forearms in a strange but obvious celebratory gesture. Handkerchief fetched himself more broth and another plate splitting his meat with Hugger.

  Jeremy offered them his meal, but they refused repeating “soren” insistently.

  Taking the hint and not wanting to appear rude, Jeremy finished everything.

  Hugger rose and said, “Solíen va Tenar Siluin. Len’tor evarin, len’tor haláren ín alora.”

  “Whoa, that was a mouthful,” Jeremy said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. Handkerchief simply nodded and gestured toward the door. They started walking. Jeremy hesitated until Hugger turned and motioned for him to follow.

  Okay. Here goes nothing.

  Outside, the waning daylight washed the city in gold. The air smelled impossibly clean to Jeremy’s new nostrils. Not even a hint of pollution, ozone, or rot. Although there was a slight chill in the air, the sun still felt good on his skin.

  “I’m cold-blooded now,” Jeremy blurted. His new body practically drinking in the rays of warmth.

  The trio walked for several minutes. The small city was quiet, orderly, and clean. Buildings of pale stone, uniform in size and shape, lined the streets like rows of manufactured homes. Citizens milled about, greeting the two men warmly but staring openly at Jeremy.

  At least they aren’t running away screaming in terror.

  All the men were bald. All the women wore their blonde hair in tight buns. Everyone wore simple white robes. Jewelry was rare, plain, unremarkable.

  Is everyone a clone? If I’m weird but not terrifying, does that mean there are other animal?people here? What other types of animals have achieved sentience in this world.

  As they reached a broad town square, the architecture changed. Larger, more ornate buildings surrounded made up the outer rim, but one structure dominated the center; a temple-like edifice reminiscent of the Greco?Roman shrines Jeremy had seen on the internet. A statue of a beautiful woman stood in the garden as if guarding it.

  Hugger held the massive door of the temple open. Inside, another statue of the same woman stood at the front, more detailed than the one outside. Additional statues and busts lined the walls, but the woman’s statues were the finest and largest.

  At the front, where an altar would be in most churches, stood a man tending floral bushes. Hugger approached and whispered in his ear. The man’s gold necklace, pendant of the same woman, and intricate tattoo?like markings suggested he was a priest.

  After a long moment, they approached Jeremy together.

  The priest smiled broadly and warmly said, “Elaré vayn silení? dora Nivalár.”

  He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and began chanting. His voice rose and fell in a melodic cadence that echoed through the chamber. Pressure built in Jeremy’s head and chest until his ears popped.

  “Niv’alára, silen véra,

  “Lunéthé, maran’áya.

  “Seyn’elara, dorá minel,

  “Niv’alára, silen véra...”

  Hugger and Handkerchief joined him in the chant, bowing low. A low hum vibrated through the floor. Jeremy hovered awkwardly, unsure whether to kneel or start chanting.

  The chant repeated. Light suddenly poured from a circular opening in the ceiling—far too bright and warm to be natural sunlight. It intensified, bathing Jeremy in heat, then vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

  “Welcome my friend. Peace and kindness flow through you,” the priest smiled.

  “Holy shhh—Crap!” Jeremy yelped catching himself before cursing in church. “I can understand you!”