A Lost Cause

(1)The Resentment of Indecision

You hear ringing, your ears are ringing,

Wake up, you have to wake up, wake up WAKE UP!

Wake up to a new morning you unlucky bastard...

Ring,

Ring,

Ring.

'' OH FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST FUCKING STOP, SHUT THE FUCK UP, SON OF A BI-.''

I shout while opening my eyes and then I slam my hand on the alarm clock, which does stop the alarm, at the expense of my hand, so I look at the clock, and it's still fucking there, 0 damage inflicted. What do they make these electronic clocks out of, fucking bricks?

With the pain surging through my hand I try to clear my mind and take a look around my room and then I look at myself.

I'm covered in sweat and hyperventilating, probably had a nightmare while I was sleeping in my room, which is curious considering the fact that I am wearing hospital clothing. And my entire bedspread, the fucking pillows, everything, is just on the ground. So I do my best to calm down and then I remember, I wasn't having a nightmare, I probably passed out again, fuck.

As my other senses begin to start up like a motherfucking 1970's car trying to kick start its engine, I start to feel the bed under me, but it doesn't feel right, this isn't a bed, it feels like fucking plastic but that doesn't make sense, it's clearly made out of feathers, fuck.

I am not gonna think about that anymore... Yeah no, I will keep thinking, what the fuck.

Why does everything look and feel weird, it looks like everything is anime, not even real, am I still dreaming? Maybe I fucking am. I look at the clock, it shows the time and date as 06:22, 19.01.1097.

Do I have school today? No, what the fuck am I talking about, I dropped out of college 3 years ago and I'm pretty sure I lived in the 21st Century. Not during the Middle Ages.

What the fuck is happening? Am I in a mental hospital? Am I inside an anime?

With the stress and fear in my head, my brain finally remembers what's happening; where I am, who I am, what I am doing, and the fact that this isn't my fucking room, it is my own personal holding cell. Shit. It's probably due to yesterday's experiment, Kal'tsit said I'd be fine, fuck, I guess it's my own fault for trusting that whore.

I rub my hands on my forehead, I think I have a headache? It's fucking killing me, gah.

At least the fuckers who operate the place were kind enough to provide me with an apartment-sized cell after long rounds of negotiations and threats being flown around. Nice.

It's just a 1+1 complex but it's good enough, the bathroom, where the fuck was the bathroom? Ah right to the left, the door, as usual, opens itself for me when I get in front of it like it has been for the past 2 years.

Let me tell you the technology here is fucking amazing, if we had this on Earth I would have fucking bought it. Where was the med closet? Ah right, behind the mirror. I open the med closet/mirror and get rewarded with words I can't fucking read.

Oh right, this place doesn't use Latin, they use something like the fucking enchanting table writing system, even though it is spoken like ENGLISH?!?. I've been trying to learn it, but the fact is that I can only at best, read like only half the things written on the bottles. Luckily, past me was smart enough to label this shit in English, Elhamdülillah.

I grab a bottle of ''Painkillers for the morning headache'', not questioning why past me named it that, and a glass of tap water, which is also crazy. Bros have cleaner tap water than Fijian bottled water. While drinking my meds I look around the bathroom, it's just as futuristic as the door to the place would imply, hah, great, a futuristic shitter.