Millions of kids were having recess inside my head. Jumping. Running. Screaming.
No. That wasn’t right. I didn’t teach young minds, I twisted them with my roach.
Headache. Not kid-ache. Ouch, arm hurt, too.
I opened my eyes. Dark. Could see grass. Why was grass up my nose? Tried to push it away. Arms weren’t working.
Where—oh yeah. Bless the USA. I could hear him singing somewhere off to my right. Couldn’t have been out long.
Out? Why was I lying in the grass and not playing?
Various gears in my head turned, inviting more children to rampage through my head, but eventually bringing up a memory of getting grabbed.
Thwacked arm. Bright lights. No light.
I sent the brain kiddies home but could do nothing about the headache they left behind. The grass was another story. I went to brush
