[Keyes Doyle]
Something is digging into my shoulder blade, and if it doesn't remove itself immediately, I'm going to destroy everything within it's vicinity.
This is quite possibly how it feels to die. Someone must have cracked my head open in my sleep. And I don't mean in a simple, hit me over the head with a sledgehammer kind of way. It feels more like someone took the time to pound individual needles into my skull with the hammer or something.
The spring in my mattress has now officially relocated to the dip in my shoulder, and for that, I crave violence. Which I gladly rewarded myself with as I willed my eyes to open. My sweaty palms ripped that sucker out of the scruffy padding and hurled it across the floor.
The satisfying clank it made as it hit the concrete floor replaced the silence of my alarm failing to go off. Of course I forgot to charge my phone. That would just be too convenient, and the universe can't have that.
Dragging myself to the edge of the mattress, I dug around in the blankets until I found the pair of socks I'd kicked off in my sleep. I slipped them onto my feet before I stood up on the cold ground.
I get it, alright? My living conditions aren't exactly up to par, but most people are just a screw up away from being exactly where I am. The bottom.
The bottom of the stairs to be exact. When I reach the top step a loud scream hits my ears through the closed basement door. The throbbing in my head flames up in retaliation to the unwelcome sound. My hand darts out to the busted brass door handle, only to find it locked.
I never lock the door. Actually, it's more accurate to say I'm not allowed to lock it. Mom has strict conditions to me living here past graduation without attending college.
More screaming slips through the crack below the door. I stumble back down the steps, narrowly avoiding a crash landing by leaning on the water damaged drywall. There's no way to unlock the door from down here when it's been locked from the outside. There's so much screaming though, fading in and out in a tide if terror. None of the voices are familiar either. Mom has a cracked deeper voice from years of smoking, and dad rarely speaks at all. I can't imagine what he would sound like screaming.
My ankles bend every which way as I flounder my way over to the desk. The heavy duty equipment resting on top of it is the only organized part of my room. A small sanctuary in the middle of the rest of my chaos.
The boxes piled in the corner next to my expensive setup tell the story of my life. As I reach the stack a searing pain shoots through my body to remind me of the lonely night I had. Once again, another failure to bypass floor 98's dungeon.
The boxes topple to the floor while I dig sluggishly through the clutter. Finally a box hits the concrete with a bang and an axe slides across the ground. It bounces off the leg of the desk and skids to a stop just out of reach. Dad gave it to me back when he thought I would grow up to enjoy things like chopping firewood, and going on month long fishing trips.
I kept the axe because of the hand carved locks and keys in the handle, a tribute to my name. The fishing poles and life time subscription to a bait shop magazine though, those had to go.
I crawled over to the tool and dragged it behind me as I climbed back to my feet and hobbled across the room. It thumped against the stairs with each exhausted step. The tapping noise trailed behind me, sounding like a clock winding down.
I must still be drunk, because there was no hesitation in my tired muscles as I slammed the sharp edge down against the wood. The door splintered on command and a decent sized hole formed in the middle of the shattered entrance.
"Mom?!" I tried to look through the opening. I could see down into the empty kitchen, and partially through to the dining room across the hall.
Everything looked normal, untouched even. The house seemed eerily still. Then a few leaves swept past the kitchen door and down the hallway on a gust of wind. Is a window open?
Or the front door?
I reached my hand through the hole, avoiding the jagged ends, and felt around for the handle. My fingertips reached the chilly brass as another screech erupted. My body instinctively flinched, making me yank my arm back just enough for a piece of splintered wood to burry itself in my skin.
A broken hiss left my lips as blood left the wound. I pressed my forehead against the doorframe and clenched my eyes shut to avoid letting out my own scream. The tears welled despite my best efforts, and a few began mapping their way down my face.
"Mom? Dad!" I called out between deep breaths. No response met my cries.
The commotion is coming from outside. Unfortunately, my view of the kitchen window is just as limited as my arm span. I can't reach the lock on the handle.
I slowly and carefully dislodged the fractured wood from my arm, which was slick with blood. I picked the axe back up and swung again, closer to the handle. When I reached back through, the sting from the gash in my arm led the way to the lock.
I pinched it between my fingers and sucked in a breath. The world froze for a second, like the moment in a scary movie before the dumb character opens the wrong door. If only I had an audience screaming the right choice at me right now.
Mom's gonna kill me for destroying her door.
Click.
As soon as the lock was turned the door flung open and I rushed into the hallway. A faint red light illuminated the furniture, spilling in from the ajar front door. All the doors in the hallway were open too. As if someone had frantically run through the house, searching each room.
The screaming had practically vanished now, leaving a few lingering shouts and echos sifting through the ominous doorway. Somehow, the silence is just as off-putting as the anguished shrieks from earlier.
When I opened the basement door, I had almost hoped mom would be in the kitchen, making her famous hangover brew that I hate so much. She would've run to me with concern on her face as she scolded me for breaking the door. Of course, then she'd probably have me committed for demolishing her house with an axe, but that's not the point.
Something feels so undeniably wrong, and I've never been so reluctant to leave this place. Each stride towards the open door feels like I'm losing something.
Yet, there's something else stirring in my veins. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Something akin to, excitement.
No- thrill.
My feet shuffle a bit at the threshold, before finally emerging onto the small porch of my parents home. The sinister red light hit my eyes and covered my skin like a blanket. The streets were devoid of people, save for the few cars disappearing around the block, trunks practically bursting from the amount of junk shoved in there.
A flickering above me caught my eye through my peripheral vision. I shakily forced my face up to the sky. There, a massive alert was posted mid air.
It looked like a notification that would pop up on your phone during an emergency. The edges glitching menacingly. The screen-like apparition displayed three alarming words above a timer.
~Game commencing in... 00:00:00:30~
Game? What game? What's happening in 30 seconds?? Where is everyone?
Why am I alone.
My headache began to flare up again. I staggered backwards on the porch untill my back hit the brick wall. I slid down it and sat helplessly waiting. Waiting for what, the timer to go off?
Twenty seconds left. Did my parents leave? Are they sick of me?
Fifteen seconds. It's my fault if they did. I should've gotten my act together.
Ten seconds. How have I been living untill now? How could I disappoint them like that?
Five seconds. Am I dreaming right now? Is this the world telling me to get my act together?
Three. I need help.
Two. I took an axe to a fucking door.
One. I'm alone.
~Commencing... EXPEDITION OF WORLDS~
~Stage... Characterization: Assigning Profiles~