The Run-In

Ziborg Aliens

"Shit." I hiss, scrambling out of bed. It's eight fifteen, and my first class already started at eight.

I shake the remaining bit of grogginess out of my system and stumble into my bathroom. I look in the mirror hanging above the sink and nearly shudder at the image that greets me. My hair is disheveled and unkempt, like an actual bird's nest. Wiry strands of my hair stick out randomly in all directions as if I've been electrocuted. My under-eyes are stained a dusky violet, swollen and puffy. My t-shirt practically hangs off me sideways like a poorly twisted rope.

Great.

I rip through my tangled knots of hair with my Wet Brush. It'll take too long to be gentle. I then immediately start applying my makeup— I'll need full coverage today. First primer, then concealer, then foundation, etc. When I finally look presentable I blow a ton of setting power all over my face. It would be a disaster if any of this came off.

I race to my closet and yank a plain white t-shirt from its hanger. I rip off my pajamas and throw on the shirt whilst sprinting to my dresser. I latch my hand onto one of the drawers and jerk it back swiftly.

I forgot that that drawer can slide out.

I let out a bloodcurdling shriek when the heavy wooden drawer crashes onto my bare foot. I kick it off my foot and pull ripped denim jeans out of it. Still desperate for time, I slide on my jeans while hopping madly on my crushed foot.

I limp as fast as I can to the front door, grabbing my backpack and gray puffer jacket off their hooks on the wall. I slip my feet into my old white Vans and wince when my swollen foot is forced inside. It's already started to bruise, a deep violet and crimson shade.

Groaning, I throw open the door, and it bangs against the wall wildly. Welp, that's gonna leave a dent.

I slam the door shut and don't even bother to lock it. Searching for my keys is another waste of precious time. I then sprint down the carpeted hall, my mutilated foot practically dragging behind me.

What I sight I must be. I wonder if a security guard is currently watching through the cameras that dot the ceiling. If someone is watching me, they must be having the time of their life.

I limp weakly when I finally make it outside to the resident parking lot. My right foot rolls under my weight every time I step on it, like a purple burrito. Luckily, my car is sort of close to the back exit of the apartment building, so I won't have to walk much farther.

A glowing figure suddenly slides into view, obscuring my path.

Why can't I walk to my car without being confronted by some frickin stranger?

Sick of feeling petrified, I lamely cross my hands over my chest and lean on my good foot.

"What?!" I cry in exasperation. "What is it now?! I've had a crappy week and I'm sick and tired of my anxiety."

"Aw, I'm sorry about your week." sighs a familiar voice. I squint my eyes in confusion. Could it be? Is it really him?

The morning sun is hanging directly behind the figure's head, limning his silhouette with a golden glow, like a halo. It casts a shadow over his face, shrouding his features in grey.

"J-Jimin?" I stutter in disbelief.

The figure steps forward just enough to break the halo lining him, which brings the light back to his face. Jimin's face.

"I said we'd meet again, didn't I?" he chuckles lightly. It has the same melody as the song my father used to sing, each laugh a burst of joy and vibrancy.