THIRD

I woke up with three arms—in and of itself a strange thing, but not as strange as my third arm, which looked that much different to my other two that it had me very worried. Was it that the two arms I thought I had were that different to one another, or had a third, unrelated arm grown overnight? The third arm (let me call it that) was slender, brown and altogether more delicate than the other two. I attempted to flex its long pink-tipped fingers but all I managed was to move the fingers on my other two hands. Perhaps, I thought, I was dreaming. I used what was once my left hand (now first hand? Westernmost hand?) to pinch my new, third arm. I felt nothing, but heard a strange squealing sound behind me. Puzzled, I pinched again, and again the squeal, but louder, and a sudden force at my shoulders. Was it too early to phone the papers? Or television stations?