4

  “This is one ing huge headache I’ve ever experienced in my entire ing life.” Is what I would like to say after having my upper part of the body slam right the into some low budget ceiling—or maybe some terrible person who thinks it would be a wonderful idea to have ceilings as high as an elf—note the sarcasm.

  I don’t recall sleeping in a place like this though, like I’d ever have this crazy idea of barging into a strange house and call it a day—whoopy doo.

  I groan and rub the part in my head that got the beating. Well, that , apparently I got a huge bump that says, “Hey look at me, I just woke up and bumped my head on the ceiling, stupid, right?” but of course—this er doesn’t speak. Heck, if it did, I’d readily cut my head off because this thing scares me as much as my mind does.

  Now that I got my senses back to normal, I look around the room. I don’t really know where the hell I am and my brain doesn’t even seem to recognize anything—what a great thing to own.

  I carefully roll to the side of the bed and slide my way down. Funny how there’s a slide at the end of the bed. Must be a kid’s bed because I don’t see the logic for an adult to own any of these.

  Oh, you own one? me, then.

  And maybe me another for thinking someone’s reading a proportion of my thoughts. I sometimes think that happens, though. Will you still me? Whatever. What greets me after I plant my feet on the floor is the god forsaken ceiling—because I apparently forgot how low they were. me four, think you’re luckier than me?

  I, of course—I mean, who wouldn’t?— retreat my head back and rub the sore spot of another worthy bump. Now, now, don’t fight, you two are brothers. I creep—and by creep, I mean, walk like a monkey. You know? Where my hands are like the third and fourth feet? Yeah, that one. And I head to the door.

  I stop from my tracks when I find out how ing small it is. How the do I even get myself out without chopping half of my body? How do I even chop my body? With the slide attached to the bed? Oh god, no.

  Or maybe, says my logical part of the mind, I could crawl like a worm and push myself forward. I mean, doesn’t that save half of my supposed cut body? I scoff, of course, of course. And I do what I thought, I lie on my stomach and crawl, like how the soldiers do when they’