#7

There was not much going on inside Dale Stephens' mind... "We all know frogs go, ladi dadi da, ladi dadi da, they don't go croak! croak! croak!"

Dale was well aware that he was in an unusual state of quasi-consciousness and that he had been for some time. He was disinterested in contemplating why, or even how to break out of the jail that was holding his imagination hostage. He'd been strapped to a table for several days - yes, a table! The people around him had absolutely no regard for his comfort. Or they were just cruel sons of bitches. I mean really, who puts someone on a table? It's possible his posture would benefit from this in the long run, but present Dale cared little for future Dale. "Sucker," he sniggered (mentally).

His mind wandered back to frogs. Giant, tall ones that stood on their hind legs, and had a strange obsession with Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. In his imagination they were generally happy go lucky creatures, but they lacked a few key social skills.

A lightness invaded his imaginings suddenly, and he felt oxygen against his eyeball. The distraction broke his reverie momentarily and he was thrust into the midst of a painful memory he'd been long suppressing.

"Shit."

His mind hunched over in pain as though it were his stomach and had just been buffeted by a battering ram.