Base Instinct 1: Discovery

It really sucks to be dead.

Although I guess I might not actually be dead; all of this might be real.  But I'm pretty sure I'm gone, deceased.  A ghost, if you will, and if you happen to believe in that sort of thing.  Which I didn't, but now I do.  After all, there's nobody around to contradict my views.  No one to tell me I'm actually still alive.  Even if there were, I probably wouldn't understand them.  True, I haven't been close enough to a human to ask or find out, on the off-chance that this actually is real.

What happened was this:  I was a normal guy, sixteen years old, going to high school.  My brother and his girlfriend and I were driving somewhere.  I don't remember where we were going or where we were coming from, or where this even happened.  I vaguely remember something about California or something of the like, but I honestly don't know.

The point is, we were driving.  Apparently it was on a mountain pass, as I woke up laying on a large flat rock resting on the side of a steep hill—nearly a cliff—beneath a road but above my brother's car.

The sun was low on the horizon.  I was disoriented, and dizzy.  The world swam before me.  Everything seemed like a dream, and yet also so real.  When I stood up and looked down the slope and saw the car, I realized that I had probably been riding in that car.  And judging by the current condition of the vehicle, I knew that I was probably dead.

But, I figured that if I was dead, there was no point in trying to stay alive.  So I set off down the mountain without fear of my own safety.  Everything was still fuzzy and swimmy, but I remembered noticing that I had extremely good balance on the steep slopes.  It only took me a minute or two to climb down the slope.

The car was flattened both directions.  What was once a four-door vehicle about 15 feet long had turned into something about 7 feet long, and much more rounded than a car should be.  It seemed to have rolled down the slope, and I saw that it was a miracle it stopped here, because the only thing keeping it on what might pass for a ledge was a scrawny burnt tree trunk which twisted at a horrible angle away from the wreck.

I stepped around what I took for the hood to what I assumed was the driver's side of the car.  There was only a few inches of rock between the car's body and a sudden cliff that dropped a few dozen feet before the general slope of the mountain resumed.  I barely managed to hold onto that ledge and peer into the crumpled door.

The interior of the car was much smaller than it used to be, but amazingly my brother and his wife seemed nearly unharmed.  I couldn't see my body, and assumed it had been thrown from the wreck as it tumbled.  Had I been wearing a seat belt?  I couldn't remember.  I couldn't remember anything that day until I woke up a few minutes ago.

But I figured I hadn't been belted, because if I had, my body would still be there.  I say body because nothing could have survived in the back seat, as the trunk and the roof were currently fighting for occupation of the space.

I backed out in horror, and my foot slipped.  I scrabbled for the cliff edge and caught it.  My body hit the rock hard, but I lived.

Did ghosts have gravity?  Apparently so.

I tried to lift myself up, but stopped short.  I caught sight of my hands digging into the rock ledge.  Well, they were talons.  Scaly yellow things, three fingers, each ending in sharp claws.  I was stunned for a minute or two, just handing onto the cliff wall, looking at my talon-hands.  Twisting my head around I saw my upper arms were covered in feathers.  Looking down, my legs were those of … a lion?  Claws were extended from my leg-paws, digging into tiny clefts in the rock.

What's more, I had a tail.  And, willing the proper muscles to move, wings, too.  All colored a lighting brown, like a brown-beige color.  Except the undersides of my wings, which were white.  I pulled myself up a bit onto the ledge and saw the side mirror of the car dangling from a few wires.  It was surprisingly intact, with a spiderweb of cracks only partially obscuring the image.

My face was that of a bird or prey.  A yellow beak, black-gray down the center, and beastly yellow eyes.  My ears were pointy.

I was panicking now.  What was I?  Who was I?  Was I alive?  Dead?  A gryphon?

What?

I heard something and looked up.  Through the broken car I could see the top of the cliff where, presumably, there was a road.  On the side of the cliff was a large, white, boxy thing with flashing lights on top.  An ambulance.  A firetruck rolled up beside it.  People were getting out, tying ropes....  They were going to come down.

If I was alive, they couldn't see me as a gryphon.  If I was dead, they couldn't see a ghost!  Either way, I had to leave.  I took one last look at my brother and, closing my eyes, pushed myself backward away from the cliff and car and paramedics.

I spun around and opened my wings, following the contours of the mountain for a few hundred yards before flapping my way upward.  I made wide circles around the scene, gaining altitude the whole time, until the road was a mere ribbon in the mountains.  I alighted on a mountain and lay down on a rock.

The wind blew, ruffling my feathers.  I moved a little, situated myself, and folded my wings tight against my body, my chin/beak resting on my crossed talons as I watched the paramedics extract my brother and his girlfriend.  The ambulance left, and a tow truck came to pick up the crumpled car.  Within a few hours, the evidence was erased.  I closed my eyes.

I knew gryphons didn't exist.  They just didn't.  Therefore, if I was a gryphon, I didn't exist.  If I didn't exist, it was because I was dead.  Yes, killed in the crash.  That seemed right.  I closed my eyes and fell asleep.