I was moody. It was Sunday. I'm always moody on Sundays. The last day before going through another five days of school. Just thinking about it made me tired. Eighth grade wasn't a good grade for me. There was way too much work to fit my liking. Even the weekends were torn away from me. At this point in life, I knew that my arch rivals were not people. It was exams.
God, I hate eighth grade
If this was middle school, high school was going to be a total hell. As for college, I didn't want to think about it. It was too painful. My head was beginning to pulse. Great, this headache was going to be a big one. I trudged toward the tv, might as well help the little thing skewer my head. Potato chips are good to speed up the process as well. I'm going to die tomorrow.
I stared at the screen. A Naruto episode was on. I liked this anime. It was about ninjas and stuff. No, not those weird, skinny men that wore tights. I mean ninjas. Everyday, kid ninjas. A lot of action, language, moves, jutsus and a superb storyline. Really, it was good. The manga was even better.
Why couldn't my life be more interesting? Books, studies, homework, what was the point of all that? I wanted to be an animator or manga artist, not a scientist or lawyer like my parents expected me to be.
"You can draw as a hobby." They said.
Psh. I hated that.
The episode was getting really interesting. As I watched, I grew more jealous of the characters in it. Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, they all had so much action in their lives. And homework wasn't a necessity.
I felt a longing grow inside of me. A deep, deep wanting. I craved for the lives that they had, I hungered for it. I WANTED it. It just wasn't fair. I hated reality. I hated fantasy even more. God, I sure added quite a bit to my "Hate" list today.
2 hrs later, I staggered into my room, clutching my head. I think I overdid it. A hammer was pounding a nail into the side of my head. I stood still, waiting for the wretched pain to fade away. It did, the hammering stopped. Using extreme caution, I lifted my foot an inch. The nail shot a warning jolt through my head. Gritting my teeth, I made a determined step...
...and fell down. The hammer was smashing my skull to pieces. Okay, so determination wasn't always so great.
Muttering about migraines and my allergic reaction to penicillan, I crawled toward my bed, wincing at occasional pricks of additional pain. Man, I never had a migraine that was this bad. Maybe I was getting eye cancer. Not that I knew the relationship between eye cancer and migraines.
Okay, stop thinking. 1...2...3
My brain shut off. Yes, telling myself to close down worked with me.
What? Sleep? Where did that come from? I didn't th-
I lost consciousness.
First thing I felt when I awoke: My old, faithful migraine. Goodness, weren't naps supposed to relieve headaches? Not that I fell asleep willingly. What was that anyway? I couldn't have been that tired. My first time in losing consciousness. Hmmm.
While all this thought-process/evaluating-the-situation was going on in my head, my senses finally relayed a message to my brain.
It was pitch black.
I blinked again.
I shut them.
After allowing a few seconds to let them moisten, I slowly opened by eyelids and blinked twice, carefully. Nothing but darkness stared back.
Okay, the light's off then. Maybe my sister had come in while I was "napping" (more like knocked out) and turned off the light. It was late afternoon when I went to bed. Reasonable, right? I hoped so.
Gingerly, I got up and felt for the floor with my feet. My toes brushed the wooden boards. My muslces sagged with relief. At least I was in my room. I slept in my room so I woke up in my room. Pretty obvious. But hey, it never hurt to make sure...
Wait a minute. My toes?
Making sure that I was sitting down like I normally would, I felt for the floor with my feet again. My toes definitely felt the floor. Only my toes. I had to strain to place my feet on the ground without getting off from the bed. That was unusual. Not to mention frightening. I was always too tall for my bed. My feet always touched the floor. My whole feet. I felt myself being overwhelmed by panic. It was terrifying. Did I grow shorter during my sleep? Was that even possible? Am I in my room? Was I kidnapped? My god, when did I ask so many questions?
A shrill ring shot through my tumbling thoughts. My head went blank instantly. Where was that ringing coming from? It sounded like an alarm clock. But it definitely wasn't mine. Mine played a piano song, it never rang. This was most assuredly NOT my room.
The ringing grew louder and screeched. Before my poor, terrified brain was given a chance to react, the bed shifted. By something else. Not me. I froze. Grrrreeeeaaaat, SOMEONE was in my, well technically not mine, bed.
I heard a slap, a metallic crunch and the ringing went dead. I winced. To someone who was in complete darkness, like me, it sounded like something had smashed the alarm clock to stop its incessant ringing. Very violent way to handle things.
Staying still, I waited for another sign of movement. There was a shuffling and I felt the covers being pulled away. A few minutes later, a snore rumbled the room. Apparently, the thing or person seemed to have gotten back to sleep.
Why keep an alarm clock then? I wondered. It'll just be a waste of money. Whatever. That wasn't my problem. Right now, I needed to get out of here.
But I didn't move. Instead, I did what most people thought would be crazy, given the situation. I sat comfortably and pondered.
An ordinary person would've tried to tiptoe out of the room in an attempt to escape while being unnoticed. But I've seen too many dramas where the captive gets caught in the middle of the process. So that wan't an option.
Another method was to simply make a mad dash for the door and get the hell out of here. But there were two factors that prevented me from that choice. One, it was pitch black and two, I was in an unfamiliar surrounding. I could slam into an oversized cabinet for all I know.
My forehead wrinkled. Well then, I only had one other option; wait until my captor wakes up. Might as well show him/her that I'm not exactly petrified and scared out of my wits. Sometimes, that first impression of terror can lead the captors to do something that is...undesirable.
But with his alarm clock pretty much useless, who knows when he will wake up? If there was one thing I hated in this world, it was waiting. I can't even read a book to pass time, thanks to this stupid blanket of darkness.
What to do, what to do, what to do?