Stuck in a Time Warp

Part 2: Chapter 3

Part 2: Chapter 3

Natalie’s Point of View

I want to die. My entire body feels like it’s on fire and like someone is stabbing me repeatedly into my bones.

Last night was the worst of it. God, is it possible to survive that much pain?! My mother says giving birth is the most painful thing I’ll even feel, so if it’s worse, well, the Phareson family ends here. I’m pretty sure that I totally blew my vocal chords last night (like Julie Andrews). I’d be surprised if I can ever talk again, let alone sing.

My mother must be worried sick. I need to escape and get back to her. Now, I’m losing my mind, too! How can I dream of getting out when I feel like this and I’m bound to a pillar in a most-likely basement?! It’s hopeless.

Okay, I’m officially dead ‘cause there’s the light! Nope, not that lucky. It’s just a doorway. Light spills down the ancient-looking wooden staircase to my ri- left.

A shadow appears in that light. Holy skirt! This lady needs to move out of the 19th century. It’ll be a wonder if she can even fit through the doorway! The shadow is too distorted to tell much else about her.

Light thuds come from the steps as she starts down. I refuse to look at her, you know, pretending I’m dead- that kinda concept.

From the sounds of it, she may be a dancer. I mean, how else would she walk so lightly? Is she the one that attacked me and locked me down here to die? Or is she just a servant, checking to see if I’m dead yet?

“Natalie, we both know that you live. Feigning death will get you nowhere. I can easily walk back up those stairs, out of the root cellar, and leave you to eternal starvation. Indeed, I did say ‘eternal’. Stop being a child and face reality.”

How the heck does she know my name? Why does her voice sound so darn familiar? Where have I heard that voice before?

Anyway, what in reality is eternal? Seriously, in like a week or so, I’ll die of anorexia. News flash: a week is now eternity. A week would only be eternity is it was all spent in Physics. Boy, can Mr. Randalls drone on!

“Sitting there, mute shall not aid you,” she says, flustered and suddenly, behind me.

The gag is removed from my mouth as she explains that the bounds will only be removed if I’m not going to run.

I can’t guarantee anything, but I tell her the easy answers to all her questions as she pushes me up the steps. But, of course, with a hand firmly gripped on the shoulder of my formerly yellow pea coat, which is now a sooty-brownish sort of color.

She leads me through a maze of rooms until we reach a sitting room that is looks kind of like the 50s came back to puke up its cheesiest qualities. Checkered marble flooring was surprisingly not the biggest eyesore of the room. Bright red patent leather furniture. Why?

But, who am I to criticize decor? I mean, my room is deep purple with tan stripes, not to mention the bean-bag chairs.