I HATE TITLES AND I HATE ENDINGS, SO I'M VERY SORRY. Also I don't know where this chick came from. She was just like BAM HI.
But I'm proud of like half of this.
So yeah.
I tried to refrain from direct dialogue. Woo.
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Life was so dreadfully boring. Though I couldn’t complain; I supposed boring was better than dreadful on its own.
But what I would do for some excitement.
Sure, I wasn’t one people often looked at and thought, Gee, I’d bet my wages she’s one of those daredevils who gambles their life and sanity for kicks. She’s one of those reckless types for certain. I’d been a cheerleader in highschool and a cheerleader in college, and I’d broken the stereotype by graduating top of my class in both.
Once I escaped those hell holes, I dove gracefully into the night life. I mean, what else was a philosophy major to do, apply myself? Please.
I’d been at a pub that summer night. I was a regular there. My temporary friends, on the other hand, were not. “Temporary” because I’d only met them that day, and “friends” because “f*ck buddies” was a bit too harsh. For them, not me. Like I cared.
The lights were dazzling, the music loud, and the already-intoxicated patrons, men and women alike, continually rested their heads on my shoulder, batted their droopy eyes at me, and asked, slurring their words, for my number. I politely told them to piss off, and sipped at my drink—fourth, fifth, tenth, whichever one it was. My friends for the night laughed it off and tried to put moves on me. I was nicer to them. Didn’t want to hurt my chances, after all.
It was past one in the morning when we stumbled out the doors, laughing giddily and completely unaware. I could hardly keep a hold on my bag—yeah, it was oversized, but a girl’s got to carry everything she could possibly need, right?—and it kept swinging into the taller of my friends’ hips, earning a hiccup-y laugh from the two of them every time it happened.
Barely drunk, was I, but it was enough. While I’d built up a partial immunity to alcohol, I was far from being totally invincible. My vision was doubled, my mind full of haze, but I could manage. I was fine. Totally. That’s what I told my pals, my amigos. They believed it, too. They were too far gone, though. Dumb*sses.
It was my fault. As it turned out, I’d drunk far more than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t expected to get even remotely drunk. I rather fancied having most of my senses and a hint of control when I brought folks back to my apartment. But since I could scarcely calculate 2+2, and my man-friends couldn’t distinguish left from potato, it was really a poor choice—primarily on my part, but I still placed at least half the blame on them—that we chose to try and cross the nearest highway for sh*ts and giggles.
Our attempt passed in a blur. The next thing I knew, I was staring at the cloudless night sky, eyes unable to distinguish anything but a few peach-color blobs floating above me. My head, my entire body, aches, and I couldn’t move, no matter how badly I wanted to.
The peachy blobs called my name—an annoyingly repetitive chorus of “Wendy!” that made me want to gouge my eardrums out—but I couldn’t respond, even if I wanted to.
My eyes fluttered shut. The darkness swarmed in, uninvited. In the distance I heard sirens, and good lord they were maddening. Thankfully, pretty soon, I heard nothing at all. But by then, I couldn’t tell which was worse.
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There was a sour taste in my mouth. Vomit? God, I hoped not. It’d happened far too many times before, and none had been more pleasant than the last.
My side was stiff, and my shirt was cold and damp against my skin. It was all I could feel. Nothing beneath me. Nothing above. No wind, no sun, no rain. Nothing.
Though at the moment I couldn’t open my eyes, my arms felt like it bent oddly, fingers splayed a foot or so before my head. I faced down—or what I assumed was down—lips parted and breathing labored.
With a mild groan, I stirred, stretching my back in an arch in the opposite direction in which my face was. I began to realize that there wasn’t a solid surface beneath me, but I wasn’t falling. Odd, but it wasn’t worth questioning. My head throbbed too much for thinking.
Slowly, I managed to open my eyes, but for a short while I wasn’t sure I had done that.
All around me was an impenetrable, everlasting darkness.
My chest constricted. My breath caught. I sat up straight and drew my knees to my chest in a single move.
It was an elementary fear. It was stupid and silly. Most only feared what lurked within, but not I. I feared it in its entirety.
The dark.
I tried to call out, but my voice was shot. That, or I’d suddenly become deaf.
I was alone.
Fear number two? Bloody check.
Despite all the efforts I’d constantly put into avoiding both of these things—taking night classes, keeping the lights on, surrounding myself with others, preferring crowded bars rather than solitary—apparently it’d all been for naught.
Blind, I scrabbled along the ground, and I let out an enormous sigh of relief upon touching my bag. From the deepest post I dug a small, furry object and clutched it near my face.
It was soft, and it smelt of perfume—probably some that had leaked in the bag—and wood—from the days of my youth when I played in the treehouse every afternoon. That treehouse was the end of me. When it burnt down and my father’s lungs were poisoned because he swam through smoke to save me, I could never be alone again.
But that wasn’t important.
The small, stuffed creature was the only source of comfort I had when no living human was around. It always had been.
It wasn’t working.
Trembling, I struggled to maintain my composure. A false attitude was all a girl had.
Yeah, that didn’t work either.
Then I heard the laugh.
It was deep—so impossibly deep I felt it resonate down my throat, through my heart, and across my spine—and slow, as if the owner were loony but reserved.
Or perhaps I was just insane. That was always a valid explanation.
From the darkness emerged three features—two eyes and one mouth—all in a glowing shade of crimson. The mouth was like a jack-a-lantern, the top teeth jagged, and the eyes were wide, slanted, and mocking.
I cowered, and its laugh only echoed once more.
Though it didn’t speak, I could feel its oppressive presence, sense the weight of its perpetual glare.I couldn’t take it.
With a God-awful cry that I was ashamed to emit, I threw my beloved plush into the only source of light, directly into the face’s left eye.
The red disappeared, but only after a brief spattering of pink sparks nearly blocked out the red altogether.
Stunned, I found myself immobilized, but for once it wasn’t by fear.
Blindly digging, I retrieved a flimsy, rectangular object and thumbed through the dog-eared pages, creating a fan-effect. The Grapes of Wrath, left over from my college days, still lived in the bowels of my bag, and desperate for results, I chucked the paperback into the darkness. A swell of gray and red lines burst from the impact point, illuminating my bag for a few moments. I used that time to grab a few other items.
My phone—which held all of my music—a pair of earbuds, a pack of colored pencils—because when you got the urge to use a coloring book, you’d better f*cking indulge in that—a book of French—hey, just because I got my degree didn’t mean I was done leaning sh*t—a bottle of perfume, and a tube of lipstick.
Dear, God, I hope this f*cking works. I may actually consider going to church if it does.
I plugged my earbuds into my phone, popped them into my ears, turned the volume all the way up, and blasted my favorite playlist—the brilliantly-named “Whenever, Wherever, Just F*cking Listen To This Beautiful Sh*t.”
Allons-y.
With that, I reeled my arm back and tossed the heavy textbook high into the darkness where it shattered into a flurry of blue and white sparkles.
The red lipstick went next, followed shortly by the perfume. The red sparks were marvelous, of course, but they paled in comparison to the glorious violet chandelier-shape that formed in place of the perfume bottle.
I laughed, the sound audible and genuine. Last came my colored pencils. I opened the flap and prepared to launch.
There was no countdown necessary. The pack was flying through the air with as little grace I’d ever seen, each pencil sliding from its spot yet maintaining the flight pattern.
The rainbow of colors that erupted from each contact point was too great for the darkness around me, and a dome of luminosity surrounded me, so bright I fell onto my back with an Oomph.
I was blinded.
My eyes fluttered open.
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Sirens wailed. A few voices spoke into walkie-talkies. Above me floated two peachy blobs, much more distinct now than before.
They were crying.
Sobbing.
Begging me to stay awake.
I hardly knew them.
But they cared so much, more than anyone every had.
I lifted both hands as much as I could, and they both took one, squeezing it gently to reassure me.
The sky was filled with stars, pinpricks of fiery balls of gas billions of light years away that shone their light across the universe. These two strangers, men to whom I hadn’t intended to continue speaking, didn’t seem likely to leave my side just yet.
I had faced my fears. And I had survived.
Nothing could stop me anymore.
Suck it.
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Golly I hate endings as much as I hate feet.
Like srsly why can't humans just have nubs.
BUt yeah. There ya go. And no I didn't use everything in my bag. Here is why:
IT IS FULL.
But yeah. There's a post. WOOP. I tried... xD
