Day passed into night, and gradually, I began to relax. The only pain I felt was the burn of my palm. It throbbed methodically, with every pump of my heart. It wasn't long before I became accustomed to it. Slowly, I began to drift off.
I hadn't thought about what might happen if I fell asleep. Too bad.
I was sleeping peacefully, when suddenly, somebody began to shake me. Hard. Now, if there is one thing you should never do, it's wake me up violently. If you do, be prepared for a violent response.
So, anyway, this very stupid and unlucky person, aside from just about rattling my teeth out, then began to holler. Loudly. Another mistake.
"Alright, come on, now! Rise and shine! Get up! Let's get a move on." It was a male's voice, and for a moment it almost sounded like Connor.
"Come on!” With that emphasis, the person pushed me from my comfortable side position, to a full face splat into. . . was that dirt?
I rolled over quickly, my eyes snapping open. At first, all I saw was hazy green and black.
“Well, it’s about time.” somebody sighed impatiently. Immediately, my eyes went to the source of the voice. The speaker was a tall, blonde-haired guy, wearing a plain black T-shirt and dark blue jeans. But that wasn’t what caught my attention. No, what caught my attention was his eyes. They were yellow.
He was leaning against a pole, hardly a foot away, not really looking at me. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and one leg leisurely tossed across the other at the ankle. He wore a smug look on his face, as if waking up innocent girls by shaking them so hard, it would give a baby Shaken-Baby Syndrome, was something he did everyday, and enjoyed doing.
I was steaming mad. Snarling, I scrambled to my feet, ready to nail the idiot where it hurt, when suddenly, he turned to look at me. . . and froze in shock. His already pale face, blanched, making him look as white as a sheet. Literally. His dull, yellow eyes widened as he stared into my eyes. He had grabbed onto the pole for support, but now, he raised a shaky hand to point at me.
“What the. . . Who. . . How are you. . . Holy s**t!” was what he ended up going with.
“What is your problem?” I growled furiously, my foot itching to drop the guy to the ground with one, expertly-placed kick to the nuts.
“Y-you’re. . . You’re freakin’ alive! That’s the problem!”
Stunned, I backed down, because, really, there’s no intelligent way to respond to something like that. At least, none that I could think of, at the time.
Now, Blondie took a step towards me. Automatically, I took a step back.
“What’s your name, kid?” he asked, taking another step.
Okay, nobody calls me kid, unless they have a death wish. Narrowing my eyes, I stopped, mid-step backwards, and instead, stomped up to him until we were nose to nose. Well, more like nose to chest, but whatever.
I poked a finger into his sternum. “Call me kid one more time, Blondie, and I’ll drop you like a bag of rocks. You got that?”
A split-second later, I was pinned to the ground, Blondie mostly on top of me, cutting off my air-supply.
“How did you get here?” he demanded, staring hard, down at me.
I struggled to speak, but I couldn’t get enough air. Weakly, I pushed at his chest, trying to get him off. No use. He just pressed down harder. I felt like a fish out of water. My face must have started turning a different color, then, because Blondie’s expression changed.
“Crap, sorry.” he said, pushing himself up into the kneeling position. All at once, air flooded my lungs, so much that I choked on it. While I tried to get my breath back, I glared at Blondie. He looked back at me apologetically.
After several minutes, my breathing had regulated enough, that I was able to say, “You prick.”
“I’m sorry,” Blondie mumbled. “It’s just. . . you startled me.”
“Oh, puh-lease!” I snorted. Blondie looked down at his hands.
“Listen, can we just start over?” he asked, getting to his feet. “I’m Scott,” he said, holding out his hand to me.
I stared at him for a moment, then, against my better judgment, grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled myself up. “My name’s Thema,” I said shortly, letting go of his hand immediately, to brush the dirt off of me. With a jolt, I realized I was still wearing a hospital gown. Thank goodness it wasn’t the kind that was open in the back, for all to see.
“Thema?” Scott said, humor coloring his voice.
I glowered at him. The smirk left his face instantly.
~*~*~*~
© B. J. Robertson
No comments:
Post a Comment