Twisted

Hunted 4/4

Mike Rivers

His family and neighbors consider him half mad half crazy and full psyco. 

Maybe he is crazy and psyco, he accepts all the names they call him. But he would rather live the rest of his life being crazy and psyco hidden in his bedroom than be like his 'siblings', stuck up rick jerks with no life or friends. 

In fact Mike Rivers is both crazy and psyco. Crazy enough to dive into an ocean of madness and confusion willingly and psycho enough to find pleasure in the pain that comes as a price of the answers. You see Mike is the youngest of our 'hunted' crew, he was given a choice to endure a whole year filled with pain or just skip to the -night of doom-. He chose a year filled pain only for it to end in the worst pain of it all.

"-ike Andrew Rivers, I am not goin- WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU HAND?!"

Mike looked up from his guitar wide eyed, "what the fuck MOTHER!"

"Young man you tell me what the hell happened to you hand! It's bleeding all over the silk bed sheet! I spent hundreds over that one" 

Ah. See that's what its always about, money. 

"Mom don't worry I'll take care of it, your bed sheet won't be ruined" Mike said while putting the guitar down by the bed and walking up to the door. "Now get out of my room"

"yeah it better not be ruined!" she turns to walk out of the door then stops mid way, "oh and I almost forgot, feeding Mr. Perskins is your job, and you already forgot to feed her yesterday, don't do that again".

"I'll feed him later." Mike grumbled while walking to the bathroom attached to his room. Washing his injured hand with just water, Mike stared into his own deep green eyes hidden behind frames of his circular glasses and sighed. –why?- that's what he always asked himself and his past, one hidden from himself.

Mike felt the same out-of–breath, drowning feeling he has been feeling for almost a year now returned. Striping out of his clothes he headed down to the shower.

Why go a shower, if you feel like drowning? Well I did tell you he's a bit psycho, or rather unwell. He fells guilty, not like Danny, like he could have saved someone but he did not do anything, so he makes himself suffer, in hopes that someone out there will forgive him.

*****

It's been five hours since Mike went into the shower. And the room feels awfully quiet without his confused presence. He's always been the one to sleep during long showers, so it was not unexpected to see him snoring in under the shower head. I choose dry and dress him and tuck him in the bed, he's still a baby. My baby.

He is the only one of the preys that I don't want to get hurt, but i wish it was in my hands. I'm just an audience looking over their second doom. 

******

Mike woke up a few long hors later, the curtains to his room were dense and always closed, it had been almost a week since he has seen sunlight, so the time of the day is still not clear and due to his strong hate for watches he had no idea of the time too.

How did I get into the bed? 

At this point Mike was convinced that he has been sleep walking (and he was also very concerned about it). He sat straight in his bed looking at nothing in particular in confusion for almost quarter hour, he is a lazy person. 

After almost half an hour he decided to continue what he was doing before his mother had came in to disturb him. He pick up his guitar from the floor beside his bed and strum a random tone. 

Wrong. 

Then another strum.

Wrong.

and another.

Wrong. 

This time he strum the same tune as he did a year ago in another world. And he was thrown into the ocean of voices. He tried to do what he always did, try to take one voice and follow it through the dark. He chose the a laugh of a girl,  and kept of focusing towards it. 

"Okay okay back off!" Laughed one girl, "lets play someting a little less voilent". 

"Boring!" screamed one guy, the voice seemed familiar to mike, but he could not focus too much on one voice, he might get lost and it is not a pretty sight to get lost in here.

"Safe." Said the same voice of a girl, "Any suggestions?"

"Twenty questions?" he heard his own voice suggest.

"Seriously? There are like six of us. That's a whole lot of questions Mikey." Another voice said but this one had a hint of irritation in it. 

"I was just suggesting..." he heard himself mumble. There were two voices in the back fighting over if bread tasted best with peanut butter or jam or both but Mike chose to ignore them.

"Why are you always mean to my baby?" Another soothing voice answered and Mike felt a strange calm panic wash over him. He could not understand this feeling and he lost his focus. 

Then came the chaos of voices. A loud scream. His voice calling out to someone. The sound of angry ocean waves. Four voices quarrelling amongst themselves. Loud rain platter over tin roof. Police horns. Water splashing. People crying. 

"MIKE!" 

Then he snapped out of it, only to realize that he had hurt his hand again on the guitar strings.