Timothy woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He tried going back to sleep but somehow, he can’t. Was it the mattress? No. Timothy slept in worse conditions just fine. He could even sleep in a sewer floor just fine. Timothy tried to pin it to the temperature, but that isn’t the problem either. It’s neither cold nor hot, it’s actually quite perfect.
A cold drink might solve this hitch. So, Timothy went downstairs but as he did, he heard a noise. It was the sound of frantic footsteps thumping on the floorboards of the second floor. He knows it’s not Pickle since he’s sleeping next to his room using the child-husk he used on the first time he met him. Timothy raised his ear by the door of the warehouse of bodies and he heard it, louder and clear this time. It was the footsteps of a heavy figure whilst he’s talking to himself. He’s crying and afraid, cursing in the air. Timothy opened the door and he saw it, a pair of emerald orbs in the darkness who peered at Timothy before returning in the dark.
Wisdom is not Timothy’s strong suit, but his recklessness is. He entered the warehouse and searched for the source of those. The bodies stood on row ominously with their blank stares seemingly looking at Timothy’s core.
Suddenly, a flash of light came rumbling through the floorboard and then a huge downpour of rain. There’s a thunderstorm and a huge one at that. The floorboards shook with the sway of the wind, pitter-patter plays the windows like a rush of tom drums, and soon - a huge thud came behind Timothy.
A flash!
A man standing a bit taller than Timothy fawned over him, his arms raised and ready to punch in his direction. Timothy ducked and rolled to the side. The lightning subsided and the adversary is lost to the darkness once more. He’d be a sore thumb with him standing and walking around so Timothy kept his crouching stance. He kept his eyes open for movement of the feet, hoping that he’d see where his enemy is.
A flash!
A kick came crashing at Timothy’s sides. He was so busy looking in front of him that he didn’t realize the enemy was at his sides. He rolled sideways until the body of a teenager with black hair stopped him. The enemy jumped into the air and aimed for Timothy’s neck. Timothy tried to dodge it but the man is faster and he blocked his escape with is legs. The man sat over Timothy’s neck, naked with his dick splayed on his stomach, and strangled him. Timothy punched him square in the jaw but he wouldn’t budge. He is too intent at killing Timothy.
“You! You did something to me!” The man spoke in a deep bass.
“Pl- Please... Hnnggrhh…” Timothy begged but the man did not listen.
Seeing no other alternative, Timothy looked for anything that would keep this hunk of man away from him. A plank, a piece of wood, styrofoam, anything. There’s nothing but these blank bodies standing mockingly as Timothy lost his breath. Then out of desperation, he pulled the leg of the naked teenage husk behind him which sent it crashing at the back of his enemy. Timothy thought it would at least move him aside but this man is really intent on killing him. Timothy’s world is beginning to go dark and his options of escaping this are slim to none.
Until
The head of the teenage body that came crashing down is just positioned just right that Timothy can reach it. He touched the head and transferred his soul. It was a quick transfer that he did not even feel the momentary bliss of non-existence. His fear was brought over to his new body that his heartbeat immediately jumped. Timothy stood and did what the man did to him before, kick him where his lungs are, and did another to the base of his stomach. He rolled over in pain.
Timothy transferred to another body at his side, a bigger more muscular stud that looks like a surfer dude. With the additional strength, he pushed the man on the floor and kept his arms on his shoulders. They’d feel awkward for being naked together but they are too caught up in adrenaline to care.
“Who are you?” Timothy asked.
“I don’t know. But you did something to me. Something bad.”
Timothy stopped, for a moment, he got a clarity at who this is.
“Tim Dutch?”
The man looked at Timothy with familiarity. The name felt like a huge part of who he is. It was his identity. Yes. It was his name.
“Tim Dutch... “ He whispered. “That’s my name. I remember now. I also remember that you did something to me. I don’t know what it is but you stole something. Wait- I remember. YOU’RE ONE OF THEM. My body. You stole my body.”
Timothy is conflicted at what to feel. On one hand, that’s the reality of life. You steal or get stolen, bodies included. On the other, he feels pity at the sorry sod between his legs. He’s bawling in a body that he doesn’t own and angry at something he couldn’t remember well. He must be so confused and broken inside.
“I’m sorry,” Timothy said. “I’m sorry but I can’t do anything. Your body is on the other half of the world and I can’t return it to you. It’s not up to me.”
The man looked blank - everything he knew is broken beyond repair. The life he had, the connection he made, and the future in his horizon - all stolen from him and he doesn’t know why. He couldn’t do anything but cry.