Plucked
It was twelve o’clock, and the Sandman hadn’t come yet.
As I lied on my bed, I stared at the twists and curves of my headrest, legs spread out like some princess waiting for her prince to come in her rescue. The walls enclosing me in this eternal violet room offered mystery, but no suspense.
I grabbed my diary and drew a guy wearing a green jacket. His minty, penciled eyes bored into my soul. His steel hands became softer with every swish of mine. This breadth of proximity from where he and I gazed, I wanted this sporty boy to whisk me away from my house arrest.
“When will my prince ever come true to me?”
Tick, tock, tick, tock. I looked at the clock beside my bed. It’s been half past that same hour.
My eyes fixed on the red curtain of my sliding window. A breath of wind rustled at the fabric. I stood up and checked the lock—it was still intact. “Regardless, I should have my window fixed in the morning. Maybe the rodents won’t find their way through the curtain.”
After shoving the curtain at every possible gap, the reinforced glass rattled. I gasped and ran to my bed, hiding under my creamy white covers. I tried controlling my convulsive shaking with eyes peeking through.
A human shadow appeared from the wooden floor. The creaking got louder and louder as the shadow stretched thinner and thinner toward me.
I bit my tongue and held my breath. If only my charger didn’t fail, I could have called for help. Please go away, please go away! Swallowing my tears, I prayed for someone—anyone—to save me.
Tick, tick, tick… Bang!
The shadow groaned and retreated. Sounds of leaves rustling followed behind it.
When I ducked out of my fabric shelter, relief took over my quivering mind. The source of the explosion came from the dislodged nail of the rounded metal object beside my bed. I picked up it up and marveled at the sagging clock face.
“Thank you,” I whispered to it.
The numbers fell down, forming a smiling face. My eyes widened and tossed it in the bin next to the exit.
I checked on my window. “Strange, the curtains remained how I left them. The edges weren’t damaged either. How come?”
I left the room for a glass of milk. Then I checked the other rooms for any possible break-ins. Windows were closed, no one hid under the sheets, and cabinets were devoid of any suspicious human. Maybe the loneliness was getting to me.
“Why did everyone have to leave on the same day?” I growled, crying in the corner like a pathetic child. When the tears stopped, I recalled what happened last afternoon.
The country lifted travel restrictions for the first time in ten years a few days ago. I should have come, but I didn’t want to ruin my parent’s year-long-postponed plan to the Carribean. My brother decided to sleepover with his friends. “I wish I had one.”
“Gretchen Witherfrost, you are the woman of this house now,” I told myself. “It’s only for the weekend. Bear with it like how the Vikings fended off the resistance on TV.”
I tested the door’s knob and its handful of security measures before lounging on the couch. Switching on the channels, nothing struck as particularly interesting. Until one advertisement caught my eye.
“Come one, come all! The Valkyria Vikings will have tour near you so watch out!”
A cast full of Vikings flashed on the screen with a yellow background emphasizing their century-appropriate costumes. The hunky man with a braided hair and beard stung my heart as he waved goodbye, as if waving exclusively for me. “Ahh, if I could only feel his meaty arms—his warmth.”
I melted in my seat as the commercial ended. Oh Darryn Gobblehoff, my prince, take me with you!
Pounding and dust brought me back to reality. “What was that?”
I gripped the square pillow next to my chest and looked at the ceiling. The ceiling light spun in a circle. A drop of white liquid fell from the petal of the ambrosia. It was sweet and decadent.
“Wait a minute! Why is the house swaying sideways?” I shrieked and ran into my brother’s room. There, I hid inside his musky closet. He should have done his laundry first before departing to his friend’s house!
Plates shattered from the kitchen, appliances collapsed to the floor, and the disgusting smell of this closet lingered. His clothes swathed my face like being inside a washing machine full of old and dirty clothes. I was the soap trying to keep away the germs.
The movements subsided. I stayed inside my brother’s closet just to be safe.
Wood creaked from the living room. Faint light from the hallway projected a long shadow of a man about my age. It stopped and twisted its neck left and right.
“What is he looking for?” I wondered.
A deep grumble came from it, “She’s not here!”
Are they looking for me? Why?
“Shh, shh, you might scare her away. Boss won’t be happy if we don’t retrieve her.”
They are after me!
There had been news about girls being taken from their homes. The earthquake helped them gain access to me.
‘Why’ and ‘how’ polluted my mind like wildfire. I pulled my brother’s sweaty bulk of clothes over my body and made myself small as possible. Trembling, I held my breath—not because of the suffocating smell.
My eyelids became heavier and heavier as second passed. I had no strength left to remain awake. No matter how much I fought it, the drowsiness pushed back threefold.
More things broke from the house. They could be thrashing the living room, but my body wouldn’t budge.
The last thing I heard was my brother’s closet opening. The taste of ambrosia resurfaced in my tongue. I was in heaven, but in hell at the same time.
