Once Upon a Cliché

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 ~

            Three Years Later

          I was pretty sure there was a naked guy in my bedroom.

          I know what you’re thinking—what kind of story is this? It sounds like the intro to a poorly-disguised porno. You know, like one those adult romance novels you find with the scantily-clad male on the front? Come on, ladies. I know you know what I mean. Don’t tell me you haven’t taken at least one glance at those books and wondered what wonders (pardon the lame pun) lay behind the enticing cover. If you haven’t already read one, that is.

          Anyway, given the circumstances, it was the only beginning sentence I could come up with on the spot. It was either that or the stereotypical, “I awoke grudgingly to the sound of my alarm clock, rubbing the morning stars out of my beautiful hazel eyes and—”

          Well, you get the point. But I can’t use that, for one, because I didn’t actually wake up to an alarm and greet the glorious morning with happiness and cheer. I woke up to a dead spider rotting in my open mouth, which was disgusting, and you probably don’t want to hear about that anyway.

          Besides, the “naked guy” line just shouts for attention, doesn’t it?

          But I digress. The only reason I was just “pretty sure” and not “really sure” was because I wasn’t particularly certain whether he was completely in the buff or not. You see, I’d only gotten home about five minutes ago, and the first thing I’d wanted to do was plop down on my bed and take a nice, long snooze. Of course, I couldn’t do that, since I was greeted by a bare butt the second I’d opened my door. And immediately closed it.

          So you can probably see why I freaked out and jumped to that conclusion. Now? I was still freaking out. It didn’t really help that I had an active imagination, and the only reason I could think a guy would be in my bedroom, naked, was that he was a moneyless hobo who was waiting for me to arrive so he could corner me, threaten me for clothes, and then kill me for good measure.

          Hm. Actually, now that I think about it, it could’ve been a lot worse. But I wasn’t all that good-looking and I was definitely not rich, so the whole idea of keeping-me-for-certain-ahem-favors was out.

          After all the aforementioned scenarios played out in my head, I was practically having a heart attack. I mean, my heart rate was up, I was breathing like a suffocating fish, and any moment I’d probably have died from extreme stress levels or something. But I tried to remain calm. So the first thing I thought to do was grab a weapon and hope for the best. Of course, I was never exactly the brightest person, so I never thought to run away. Seriously, the way I thought about it, my dad and sister were gone, thus I had to be the one responsible for stopping the possibly-naked hobo from burning down the house.

          I held my breath as I kicked open the door, weapon in hand. And, even though I knew what I was going to see, I still cried, “Holy Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” I covered my eyes, despite the fact that it was too late. I’d been scarred for life.

          “What the hell?” was the hobo’s immediate response.

          I’d only gotten a split-second look at him, but I was able to confirm one thing: yes, he was nude. “Don’t kill me!” I cried, waving my weapon (which felt a lot lighter than I remembered). “I probably don’t have any clothes in your size! So b-back away before I…I decapitate you!” What? It was the first thing I could think of.

          There was a slight pause as I waited for his response. Then, suddenly, I heard him start to chuckle. Yes! Actual chuckling! “With what? Your mighty wooden spoon of death?”