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This Little Piggy


Where the hell am I? Is my leg supposed to bend that way? My head is killing me. What happened to my ass? I’ve never had my elbow this close to my face. Where is this tunnel going? And that stench, my God, what is that stench?

James woke up in an unexplained and magnificent stupor with only the attention of one eye as the other seemed to be on strike and unwilling to help. The moment he tried to move his legs, he realized the answer to at least one of his questions: no, it's not supposed to bend that way. Glancing down, his kneecap sat in its proper place, but his foot was twisted well beyond its normal limits.

He brought his right hand to his head but only in his mind. In reality, his shoulder moved his upper arm, but his lower arm and hand remained pinned between the back of his skull and the grooves of the metal cylinder encasing him. Investigating the various lumps on his head with his willing left hand, the contusions were clear indications as to why he had no memory of where he was.

The ribbed metal under him continued to throb. Whatever had happened down there wasn’t good. James rocked back and forth, attempting to ease the pain, but it was too much. He had to try to get his ass off whatever he was sitting on. Of all his injuries, this was his most concerning. His mind screamed that this was a serious problem.

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