Storytime: wake up
The blinding light of the everlasting sun shot straight into my eyes just as my alarm blares and tells me its 7 in the morning. I ache and groan as I sat up, stretching and yawning shivering with cold I edge myself towards the bathroom for a icy cold shower to douse and shock myself for class.
Getting dressed, I felt a sharp sudden pain to my eye. Swiftly, I find my phone as my room lacks certain amenities.
A large bruise all black and blue covering half of my face. How did it get there? Having no recollection of the events of yesterday, I panicked to find answers for this unruly mark of physical appearance and shame.
I dart across the room to my laptop. Scrolling through every social websites, looking for answers. Apparently, I wasn't even in class yesterday as my friend noted "where the hell are you? We were supposed to be presenting our project?"
I step out of the dormitories heading straight to my class, a good 10 minutes away.
I passed by Bakerbys as I usually do in the mornings and found that there was nothing left. The mangling remains of the building suggests some sort of fire broke out. I didn't give it a second thought because I was in a hurry to find my friend and explain, or at least try to, about my absence.
Then, I saw it. The bones of old Harrow Halls. A fire must have broken out here somehow but unfortunately I had no memory of it. Police tapes secured the perimeter and I was quick to find a helpful officer which explain that both Bakerbys and Harrow Halls were bombed. There were no survivors from both buildings and left many injured from just being near the scene of death and sorrow.
I walk over the rubble, the remains of what was an institution filled with hopeful graduates. Police, paramedics and firemen rushing around me in liquid slow-mo. The firemen removed some of the rubble from what once was the library, I remember napping there yesterday. The firemen promptly pulled out a mangling body. It was me.
With sudden realisation, I glanced at my hand, my now translucent and opaque hand. I'm not alive. I'm no longer here. I am a ghost. A memory left behind.
Getting dressed, I felt a sharp sudden pain to my eye. Swiftly, I find my phone as my room lacks certain amenities.
A large bruise all black and blue covering half of my face. How did it get there? Having no recollection of the events of yesterday, I panicked to find answers for this unruly mark of physical appearance and shame.
I dart across the room to my laptop. Scrolling through every social websites, looking for answers. Apparently, I wasn't even in class yesterday as my friend noted "where the hell are you? We were supposed to be presenting our project?"
I step out of the dormitories heading straight to my class, a good 10 minutes away.
I passed by Bakerbys as I usually do in the mornings and found that there was nothing left. The mangling remains of the building suggests some sort of fire broke out. I didn't give it a second thought because I was in a hurry to find my friend and explain, or at least try to, about my absence.
Then, I saw it. The bones of old Harrow Halls. A fire must have broken out here somehow but unfortunately I had no memory of it. Police tapes secured the perimeter and I was quick to find a helpful officer which explain that both Bakerbys and Harrow Halls were bombed. There were no survivors from both buildings and left many injured from just being near the scene of death and sorrow.
I walk over the rubble, the remains of what was an institution filled with hopeful graduates. Police, paramedics and firemen rushing around me in liquid slow-mo. The firemen removed some of the rubble from what once was the library, I remember napping there yesterday. The firemen promptly pulled out a mangling body. It was me.
With sudden realisation, I glanced at my hand, my now translucent and opaque hand. I'm not alive. I'm no longer here. I am a ghost. A memory left behind.
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