The brain responds very slowly when it is unable to fully comprehend something that the senses relay to it. Sometimes, the message is slurred or fragmented when the logical portion of the organ of intellect rejects what environmental stimuli are presenting to it.

That must have been what was happening to me. Because, in the seconds subsequent to visually perceiving Junhong’s... affliction... I was not receiving any response from my nervous system which would have been an acceptable reaction to an imminent threat. There was no ‘I’m imagining this - he just has really long canines, no big deal,’ but there wasn’t a ‘Red Alert: evacuate’ either. It was a lull in the synapses in which I simply processed and reprocessed the information my pupils were detecting.

After about five seconds, everything became very apparent, and I launched myself upwards and back with all of the force I could through my stunned body. So sudden was the realization that I began to vocalize my panic, stumbling backwards and projecting incomplete phrases of shock.

Junhong sat up slightly, evidently energized by the closeness I had disrupted with my jumbled outburst. He readied an explanation, struggling onto his feet, just as the back of my knee collided with the coffee table to send me sprawling backwards. I barely caught myself with my outstretched palms; the landing brought a searing pain in my left hand that commanded my attention.

Half a second’s observation brought the image of scarlet ribbons surging over my now pallid skin. Near it was a stained crescent of the glass lamp I’d broken minutes beforehand. This time, my brain registered its body’s peril immediately. The signals were quickly overloading my body as I made every effort possible to put distance between Junhong and myself. To him, I must have been a breathing temptation that was now even more enticing. Still, my overwhelmed consciousness was not making the best decisions, and I found myself not moving in the direction of the exit, but backwards. A thin trail of blood was smudged across the floor with every shove I made to crawl towards the opposite side of the room.

The door. You’re supposed to be going towards the front door. This is the wrong way. One half of my brain shrieked at the other, infuriated by its ignorance. Its counterpart waged a persuasive argument that if we were able to reach the kitchen counter, where the knives were, I may still have a chance. We were all skeptical, but what other choice was there when it seemed that Junhong was gradually gaining strength, instinctively rejuvenated by the scent of my blood?

But the window of opportunity I had had to reach that portion of the room was long gon