text: The hospital was grimy. The floors looked sallow like the patients writhing on the beds. I was gripping my arm, praying they would not stick me with the dirty needles they were passing around. I was completely blind, having left my glasses back in the room. Blurred outlines of people walked past me. One leaned in close enough for me to get an overview of their face; it was focused on the break I had suffered. The pain was making me want to vomit. The adrenaline was the only thing keeping me from sobbing into the stranger’s arms. I was picked up and put onto the used bed that smelled of curry and blood. I begged them not to put anything in my veins. “Please please please! Do not put a needle in my arm! I am scared of them!” I had to lie to ensure they would not be offended by my true reasoning behind my unwillingness to use a syringe. One of the men came up to me and tried to reassure me. “Do not worry. No needles. No need.” His voice was attempting to be calm and soothing, but it was too raspy to be truly settling. I shifted uncomfortably in the bed to sit up. The pain from my arm shot up and gave me a migraine. “We must get you to America to heal better,” the doctor said. “This is no place of modern medicine.” He gave me a sling for my arm, and when I tried to give him some money, he waved me off. “No needle, no charge,” he said with a wry smile. I swung my legs over the bed, hitting the ground immediately due to my tall stature. I stood up straight and made my way through the hectic environment I somehow ended up in. There was no clear reason why I was there. I couldn’t remember losing my glasses, or stumbling out of the hotel, or breaking my arm, yet all of these things happened. And now I had to find my way back. While still blind. I trekked through the foreign country and ended up a few blocks from the market I had gone to a few days before. Relief flooded over me. I now knew where to go. For the rest of the trip back to her hotel, I had to put her face practically two inches from the road signs to know I was going the right way. Finally, I made it. I took the elevator back to my apartment, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the guests because I would be unable to see their faces. No way to react when you cannot see emotions. I walked to my room, reached into my pocket, and was shocked to find my key there. I opened the gold-lined door and stepped in. Nothing was out of place. Not a single thing. My glasses were on my night stand next to my bed. I put them on and felt the greatest sense of calm come over me. First things first, get rid of this broken arm. I went over to my bag and pulled out the only pill I could salvage. It was a Tylenol, but it would have to do for now. I went over to the mirror to assess if I had any other injuries. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same curly brown hair, hazel eyes, stress acne on my chin, and small tits. Still pretty unimpressive, but nothing to be worried about. I sighed and walked over to gather my things to return to America. *It was the doctor’s orders, mom. I can’t remember how I broke my arm.* I thought of excuses to make it appear like I had accidentally (and bravely) gotten hurt. I had taken this trip as a way to get volunteer hours in to get into medical school. Didn’t seem to be working out so well though. The trip coordinator had gotten arrested the first day we had arrived for stashing illegal drugs up his anal cavity. It was rumored he gave it away with a powdered fart. The professor leading the trip had gotten into jail attempting to bail the coordinator out because he used slanderous terms against the leader, saying he put the “Dick in dictator.” The other students had tried to keep normalcy going by volunteering at the places they were assigned to; however, the locals angrily waved them off, saying they were oppressive white people who could shove their privilege up their ass. I had gone back to my hotel after that, and that was where my memory ended. I strained my mind to try and find if I had anything to go off of, but nothing came to mind. A fleeting thought of asking my ex-girlfriend quickly died off when I thought of the first night we got here. Everyone had gathered in my room to take some shots, and I had walked out on the terrace to get some fresh air. Once outside, I had looked around at the bustling activity below. A dog was picking out of the trash with a homeless man next to it, doing the same. A woman was sitting on the curb talking to what looked like her son, adjusting his clothes and giving him some food to eat. He had a black eye and was staring straight ahead, looking angry. A man stepped out of the building behind them. He was taller than most of the locals there, but still shorter than her. He walked down the street, stepping into a puddle that hit the back of the mother. The son turned around, ready to shout, but the man had already made it halfway down the street, moving swiftly through the crowd. I was waiting for my girlfriend to come back from the liquor store and saw her come out right as the man was passing by. I tried to get her attention, but that man blocked her line of sight. I could have sworn he looked up at me before talking to my girlfriend. My girlfriend blushed and gave him a coy smile. He flashed a grin back and held her groceries. She giggled behind her hand, just as she had done when she had started talking to me. The man led her to the building, and I was leaning against the terrace, nearly about to fall off from trying to see my girlfriend. The man kissed her on the cheek. She kissed him back. They looked into each other’s eyes before a loud shout was heard. It was the boy, shaking his hand in the air and screaming at the top of his lungs. His mother followed close behind, trying to pull her son away from the tall man. He gave my girlfriend one more smile before calmly walking toward the boy. She looked at her watch and quickly ran into the hotel, missing the action outside. I stomped back into the room, ready to confront my now ex-girlfriend. Back outside, the man had spread his arms in a gesture that seemed to say, *Let me buy you a drink for your troubles.* The boy seemed to give in, but one touch of his black eye sent him back into fight mode. He put up his fists and spread his stance, ready for any hit. The man put his arms down. He stood completely still. The boy took it as an opportunity and sprinted toward the man. However, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the man’s eyes. They were neon green; they were glowing. The man smiled at the boy and pointed his index finger at him. “What’s wrong? Why so hesitant all of a sudden?” His voice sounded like a thousand voices, all struggling to be the main one. The mother grabbed the boy and took out a cross from her necklace. She thrust it forward, trying to keep the man back. He smoothly glided toward them, not even blinking when the cross was thrown at him. He picked it up and put his hand out as if he was giving it back to the woman. She carefully reached for it yet never had the chance to grab it. Her hair burned, and her entire body melted into sludge that reeked of burning flesh. The boy turned around at her scream and watched her melt. He stared at the spot her body had just stood. He flew to the ground, grabbing at her remnants, expecting it to be some sort of magic trick. But when he pulled his hands up, he felt something brush his finger. He grabbed it and shined it in the street light. It was a single golden tooth. The only inhuman part of her body. Before he could even react, the man pointed the cross at the boy and melted his body. He then stepped into the two puddles of people, sliding his foot in between them, mixing them. “You live, you survive, and then you die. At least you had your mommy.” He stomped into the puddle, splashing his pants and continued walking.