You're walking along the river,
eating a Big Mac sans pickles, when your heart stops. Hardly noticeable
in and of itself, considering it starts right back up again. A lot more
noticeable is your sudden hunger. The Big Mac, now forgotten, falls to
the ground, the upper bun rolling lopsidedly down the bank and into the water.
Your
brain, having stopped at the same time as your heart, is not so quick to
reboot. The brain stem starts working
first, keeping your heart pumping, keeping your lungs moving. Instinct
kicks in, recognizes your body's hunger, seeks to satisfy it.
Your vision is connected to the cerebrum and
has not yet begun to work again. Same with your hearing and your memory,
stored in the temporal lobes of the upper brain. You stumble about, moaning unintelligibly.
After a few minutes, the blood
pumping through your brain manages to conduct an electrical charge to the
occipital lobe of the cerebrum, and your sight comes back online. Your
eyes, by now nearly glowing they're so bloodshot, begin to work once more.
Food! Motion ahead of you
indicates life, and even in your moronic state you recognize an animal as your
quarry. You spring forward, loping
toward it, hoping to catch it unaware, confident that speed and surprise are your
best weapons.
The animal, just about a match for
you in terms of size, walks unwittingly into your path. When you jump on
its back, it crumples to the ground, and you ecstatically dig your incisors
into its shoulder meet, struggling to rip flesh with teeth long unused to such
fresh and unwilling food.
The
animal is making frantic, piercing noises, your first indication that you can
hear once again. The electrical charge
in your brain has made its way to your temporal lobe, where hearing and memory
are controlled. The first twinge of doubt creeps in as you begin to
realize that this animal you're attacking has a body shape all too similar to
your own.
Your
hypothalamus comes online next and your hunger drops sharply away. You
are looking down upon the human writhing in pain, clutching her shoulder as she
bucks and twists in an attempt to escape your grasp.
