The Apocalypse (A Parody)

Chapter 1 or I Find Strange Super Hot Guy on My Bed

It had not been a good day.

My morning started with an irritating buzzing in my ear which turned out to be my alarm. And I couldn’t find the snooze button (new alarm clock, a birthday present. Who does that? Who gives a sleep deprived teenager an alarm clock on her birthday? My parents. That's who.) so I had to get out of bed at an ungodly hour (read 7 a.m.).  I couldn’t find a pair of jeans that were clean enough, so I figured ‘What the hell? Who’s going to notice anyway?” Then my baby sister (all of twelve but acts like she’s five) decided to give me grief over  how I’d managed to forget my own birthday (looong story involving me coming down in the morning and people screaming ‘Happy Birthday!’ while I was like ‘What? It’s not my birthd…oh, wait, it is.’) while she stuffed her face with cereal (I spent too long reading in the bathroom so I only had time to grab an apple before I left).

Then my iPod crashed on the bus (forgot to charge it again) and I was forced to listen to a rather unappetising discussion between two hormonally out-of-control boys discussing Jennifer Aniston. I swear that apple tried to make its way out through my mouth. It nearly succeeded.

School wasn’t better. Usually, I just act invisible and it works 99.9% of the time but today, I just seemed to attract trouble. The only plus point was that I could borrow this really nifty solar charger that one of the kids who eat at my table had rigged up, so at least I had music on the ride home.

So I got home, thoroughly pissed with the entire world, and looking forward to a peaceful hour or two on the Internet. I banged the front door shut, called out that I was home and stomped up to my room. My mother yelled something from the kitchen but I couldn’t hear her over Imagine Dragons blaring in my ear. It was probably nothing anyway.

I pushed open my bedroom door and nearly died of a heart attack. A super hot guy was sprawled on top of my bed. He was dressed in black with fashionably low (and by that I mean really really low) jeans and a T-shirt that, despite its looseness, couldn’t hide the fact that he was the proud owner of a six pack. The colour really set off his olive skin and his black hair stood up in spikes although they didn’t look gelled.

My jaw must have hit the floor and I must have whimpered.

This is what any sane girl’s thought process would have been:

1)      There is a weird unknown (although super hot) guy lying on my bed.

2)      Weird guy is probably a threat.

3)      Reach for pepper spray while dropping your heavy satchel.

4)      Spray his face and scream for your mother.

5)      Back out of the room and run for your life.

His presence must have really messed up my head because this is what I thought:

1)      There is a weird unknown (although super hot) guy lying on my bed.

2)      This guy is really hot.

3)      This guy is really, really hot.

4)      This guy is reading my diary.

5)      Did I mention that he was hot?

6)      Whoa, is that a dog or a horse?

7)      Must belong to hot guy on my bed.

8)      Guy looks like a super hot model.

9)      Wait. Maybe this guy is a threat.

10)   Nah, too hot to be a threat.

11)   Are you so sure?

12)   Yeah, just look at how hot he is.

13)   Then why the hell is his face a couple of inches from yours and why is he trying to pin you to the wall?

14)   PANIC ALERT! PANIC ALERT! INITIATE SCREAM SEQUENCE!!!

I started to scream and he jumped backward. I could hear my mother thundering up the stairs. The door flew open and she was confronted with the sight of me screaming into a poor hapless guy’s face while he cowered in terror (I let her think that. You really didn’t think I’d let her know the truth did you? ). ‘Ah,’ said my mother weakly, once I’d stopped. ‘I see you’ve met our new tenant.’