[Of all the weird shit that's happened to Eddie Dean in his short twenty-and-some-change years, turning into a Goddamn fish is certainly a new one. Sure, he's had a few highs gone bad, highs that ended in him writhing on the fucking floor and feeling like he'd grown gills, but this is the first time he's actually grown gills.
He's at the edge of a lake, writhing on the shoreline, his shirt covered in mud and sand and grass stains. Eddie clutches at his neck, horrified at the openings forming there. Even more horrified that he can see glimpses of skin webbing his fingers together. This is it. All of the obstacles he's overcome in his quest for the Tower, following the Beam like a dog tracking a 'coon, and this is how he dies. Turning into a fucking fish.
Incredible. He has the best luck, doesn't he? And on top of it all, he's sure he looks real fucking smooth, flopping around in the wet sand.
Eddie becomes dimly aware that someone's approached him; making himself take three big breaths, he ignores—or tries to—the fact that scales have begun to burrow out from under his skin, making his stomach churn.]
Eddie Dean | The Dark Tower
He's at the edge of a lake, writhing on the shoreline, his shirt covered in mud and sand and grass stains. Eddie clutches at his neck, horrified at the openings forming there. Even more horrified that he can see glimpses of skin webbing his fingers together. This is it. All of the obstacles he's overcome in his quest for the Tower, following the Beam like a dog tracking a 'coon, and this is how he dies. Turning into a fucking fish.
Incredible. He has the best luck, doesn't he? And on top of it all, he's sure he looks real fucking smooth, flopping around in the wet sand.
Eddie becomes dimly aware that someone's approached him; making himself take three big breaths, he ignores—or tries to—the fact that scales have begun to burrow out from under his skin, making his stomach churn.]
—little help?