Voices

Chapter 3

  Honestly, such a freaking mess-

  "Sorry!" Some fellow school mate rammed my shoulder- was that on purpose?- and got caught back in the flow after a few seconds.
 
  This was like a one way traffic jam. Able to imagine it? Like a really strong river, streams of students were ramming themselves into one another, hitting shoulders, falling school books, and deafening, ear-deafening shouting.
 
  All that across the hallway which was about just a metre wide. By now the students were probably interlocked with one another- none of them were moving. Can't imagine? Picture a thousand ants fitting through a hole a centimetre wide, with another thousand on the other side.
  That, and the incessant ringing of the school bell, and the market-style noise the students were racking up.

  I humbly welcome you to my world, folks. It took me quite a long time to escape the hell of a traffic jam at the school gates, and an hour had passed by the time I reached home. Multitasking, I slumped my bag down the sofa while taking the television remote.
 
  On my way to my room after turning on the television, I heard what had been the sound of the sofa tumbling. Was my bag that heavy?

  Another hour had passed. I was at the kitchen, hurling out everything inside the ingredient cabinet, looking for something easy to cook.

  "Investigators are still looking for clues as to the cause of Diana Anderson's death-" I immediately dropped everything and shut the television off. It seemed that nightmares weren't the only ways to bring me back to that moment.

  A very horrible night had passed, and I slammed the alarm clock shut. Temptations of hurling it against the wall accumulated in my head. I got up and out of bed, and let my subconscious do the rest.

  Oh, and I happened to faint in the middle of cooking. I remembered seeing spots of black forming on my eyes, the sensation of feeling so weak, the burning pan scorching my face, the unbearable pain...

  My eyes forced themselves open as I took in large gulps of air. The first thing in my head at the time was fire. I forgot to turn it off. I tried standing up, but the familiar feeling of weakness came back. Looking like some statue toppling over, I dropped to the floor face first.

  Reeling in shock, my hands made their way to my face, the exact spot where it was burned by the frying pan. I looked at the stove, still turned on. My fingers crept along my face.

  Smooth.

  Painless.

  What the hell?