and the Creeper’s main arthropod twists and falls, and I fly though the air, hoping to land in the mud and water, but instead landing on hard rock and dirt, and I fade and cry out some more. I wake up groggily, nearly every part of me hurting. Flames are still dropping down from the burning maple tree. My hands and face are scorched. I try to call for Thor but my mouth is full of something. Everything around me is a confusing mix of rain, shadows, smoke and fire. My jacket is torn. I look over and on the ground is the old photo of my family, taken so many years and lifetimes ago. I fade in and out, and then a burning branch falls on the photo, and it curls up and blackens and it’s gone. I close my eyes. Voices wake me, two men approaching, holding lanterns. I try to sit up and I moan, and the nearest man says, “Kid, that’s the damnest thing I’ve ever seen. How are you doing?” My mouth is full of something and I spit it out. It’s gritty and tastes like dirt. Swamp mud. I try to catch my voice and fail.
