Hunted.

Hunted_part eight- what the hell?

Hunted_part eight

-         what the hell?

The thugs decide to guard me. Auntie unfreezes time and I go make breakfast. I am seriously craving bacon. Bacon. Baaaacon. Bacon. Bacon!!

          “umm miss?” a voice I recognize as a thug calls behind me.

          “don’t call me ‘miss’, only my grandmother does that. The name is Caramel, Caramel Cries.” I reply dryly  and go back to intently staring at my fizzing pork.

          “Sorry. My name is Joshua. Umm.. how old are you?” the thug asks, still pestering me. Ughhhh… I just want bacon!

          “umm I would rather not tell a hooded figure..” I trail off, clearly showing that I am bored with the conversation by not facing him. The bacon is more important. And more entertaining.

          “well I could understand that but im not hooded.” Joshua wryly responds. The way he talks, I have heard it before. But where? Wait… Joshua.. oh what the hell?!

          “Josh.” I mumble.

          “Hi carmie.”

          “WHAT THE HELL?!!” by the end of my proclamation I am facing Josh, my eyes narrowed throwing poisoned daggers at the dumb buffoon idiot that’s stupidly smiling in front of me. Can I stab him?

          “what are you glaring at?” Josh asks caringly. Huh? I wass glaring? Oh I wonder why?!

          “oh I don’t know, let’s see …. Someone I trusted was going to kill me, oh and now he is guarding me.. oh I wonder why I would be glaring!” I utter furiously, and as if slips off my lips it leaves quite a sour sarcastic taste.

          “Look I know’”

          “save. It. My trust in you is burnt. Just like my bacon is now. Thanks.” I cut him off, throw out the ruined uneditable waste of bacon strips before I depart from the kitchen without any appitite left.

          Ugh boys!!

          I storm up into my loft, careful to avoid thinking of anything just in case a certain pesky mindreader is listening. I slam the soundproof door behind me and I plop down on my humongous beanbag. I have has this beabbag since I was born. I often have it made like a bed, but at the moment  it is just a beanbag. I curl up in the comfy beanbag  and  doze off. I awaken with n urge to play “My Immortal” on my flawless piano. Shaking the sleepness of dreams off, I walk throught my black arch, and straight into my music room.

          I slide onto my black bench that goes to my maroon blood red piano.  I glide my hand over the key cover, as I call it, taking the beauty of the piano and room.  I painted the room black with gray music lines while having red and white music notes dance and dot along those lines. Gold lit candles and ribbons litter the place breathtakingly while the carpet is soft and fluffy midnight black. Every time I come in here I always feel taken away into another world. Man I never want to leave.

          Freeze.

My aunt can get over it. I need to de-stress.  I lift the key cover  and suck in a breath of ir. My black keys with white  automatically call my hands to play. Soon I am playing “My Immortal”, “Last Night”, “Circles”, and “Anthem of the Angels.” My fingers thrum relentlessly acriss the night keys only stopping to switch songs. Hours pass and I feel tired again. I get up and shut the lid  before I leave under my white arch leading back to my room.

Unfreeze.

I sneak into my room, shut the door silently and flick on the switch to my star generator- which is this really cool thing that makes my room black and then rotates white light around my walls in the shape of stars. I pull down my bun, that I had subconsciously put up during playing apparently, and slouch into my mushroom chair.

           I cross my legs lady like style. The uncross them. I sit like an Indian and then sit straight. I then slmp sidways, throwing my legs over the side of my chair. I then shift afain with only one leg hanging sloppily over the side while the other is outstretched allowing my toes to firmly touch my carpet. My sleepness is now gone, and replaced by restlessness.

          Sighing rather dramatically, I gather myself  up with a might huff. I darted eyeroll later, I have successfully gathered my shower stuff together and can feel the cool tile of my walk in bath underneath my toes. A plump smile smears onto my lips as I spot my favorite bubble bath liquid. I quickly fill my 3 foot gold prong tub with hot water while pouring over half the bottle of bubbly liquid into the water. What? I love bubbles and they help me relax. I shut the door, lock it as well, and dim the lighting to candle light before slipping into the welcoming tub. My mind racing with worrisome thoughts I can not fully relax, for an odd reason I am on edge.  Then I hear a, crash.