A to Z

Chapter 3- Why Is It Always Me?

Dedicated to My Best Friend (even in case of a zombie apocalypse and you're trying to eat me.)

Thank you. <3

Chapter 3- Why Is It Always Me?

There was a large chocolate cookie and it was talking to my Dad at the kitchen table. I walked in and served the chocolate cookie a tall glass of milk. A very tall glass. There was an electric chair tucked in to the table and, somehow, I knew it was my seat. I sat down casually and placed a damp cloth over my face. I heard the chocolate cookie laugh. It was a loud, rich and indulgent laugh but it sounded throaty and sticky. I took the damp cloth off my head and was about to tell the chocolate cookie to shut up when I was surprised to see Jason licking the cookie. My father had disappeared. I thanked Jason for whatever reason then suddenly appeared at a funeral. Chocolate cookie, or what was left of him, was being lowered into a six foot grave, next to the shells of Humpty Dumpty. My Dad was in jail for eating Humpty and Jason shared the cell with him, for similar cannibalistic attitudes. I had a fancy lace umbrella with thin, black netting covering my face. I felt very regal. There we paid respect to the various crumbs of food and decided to visit the wall Humpty fell off. Apparently, Dad had scraped up his insides and fried him to within an inch of his life. Again, this was casually done. Then the brick wall started to talk. He had to give evidence for the prosecution of my father. We all listened intently, playing judge. 'OI BLONDIE!' it would shriek every time I blinked. And then he threw one of his bricks at me. Oh the irony. 

I woke up slowly feeling refreshed and happy. My alarm hadn't gone off yet so I knew the brain alarm had beaten the manual one. I closed my eyes, faintly remembering a distant dream of chocolate cookies and bricks. I stretched my arms out and extended my legs until they tingled with slow burning energy. I rested on my bed, arching my back upwards to stretch it and finally letting it sink back into the mattress. My body felt full but relaxed and I relished the feel of it. Instead of getting up, I waited for my alarm to ring its siren. Any second now it would be 7 AM. So I waited... And waited... And waited. 

Faster than the speed of light, I shot up and grabbed my alarm clock and brought it to within an inch of my face. I clutched at it, silently praying.  

9.37 AM. I almost fainted. Never in my life had I been so horribly, appallingly, revoltingly late. I felt like crying. 

With a new found energy in myself, I ripped off my clothes and pulled on some underwear, choking myself with deodorant. There was no time for a shower. I squeezed about half a tube of toothpaste into my mouth, my hand not steady enough to create a perfect squiggle on my toothbrush. I shoved the toothbrush into my mouth, crashing it into my gums for no more than 10 seconds. I yanked open my closet and pulled on the closest thing to me. I shoved on some trainers, almost breaking the bones in my feet during the process. I tried to yank a brush through my unruly golden mane but failed miserably. Instead, I settled for a black and white Sherpa hat, shovelling my hair in furiously. And just like that, I left the house.  

Outside was cold and chilly but I was sweating from the rush I had just gone through. The sky was an ominous shade of grey and the air felt heavy and compressed. The street was eerily empty as no cars lined the street. I felt light and oddly free but I couldn't quite put my finger on the missing benefactor. Shaking it off, I speed walked for a good 5 minutes, ranting to myself. I had most likely sat on my bed waiting for my alarm clock to ring for a whole 3 minutes. Why didn't Dad wake me up? Why didn't my alarm clock go off? Would I get a detention for the first time being late? The questions whirled through my head making me dizzy. 

I went to shrug my bag higher on to my shoulder, a habit of mine, when my hand fell through cold air. There was no bag there.  

"Shit!" I cursed aloud. No wonder I felt 'light' and 'free'. I wasn't being weighed down by a ton of books! I pivoted curtly on my heel and stomped back home, fighting back angry tears. I found the door slightly ajar and I almost smacked myself. Relief flooded through me. I was glad I had returned. What if someone saw the open door and trashed the place? What if we were robbed of everything? I would never be able to forgive myself.