Post by anastasia on Jan 19, 2011 7:26:55 GMT -5
t h e r e ' s a d r u m m i n g n o i s e i n s i d e m y h e a d t h a t s t a r t s w h e n y
( s w e e t e r t h a n h e a v e n )
o u ' r e a r o u n d , s w e a r t h a t y o u c o u l d h e a r i t i t m a k e s s u c h a n a
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Anastasia woke up with a headache. A really bad one. You know, the ones that make you feel as if you’re having thousands and thousands of obnoxious little elves hammering against your skull, driving you nuts? When she was about ten years old she went through a short-lived period of obsessing over ancient history, and one day, while looking through the many shelves of her father’s study room, she found a book that described – in detail – the once common process of drilling a hole through one’s skull, something that was believed to help get rid of “bad spirits” or make said person more… open minded (no pun intended). She remembered that book did a fine job of keeping her awake several nights in a row, trying to imagine how horribly painful that process was, and how she imagined it probably felt like was pretty close to how she was feeling now.
She blinked her eyes open but couldn’t see anything but these red and blue dots that floated around her vision but kept slipping away every time she tried to focus on one. It certainly didn’t make her feel any better, so Asia pulled the blanket over her head and squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, groaning again as multi-colored fireworks cracked behind her closed eyelids. She lay there, curled up in a fetal position with her eyes closed, hoping the pain would subdue with time; but it didn’t, and after a few more minutes she decided enough was enough. Anastasia always kept a bottle of aspirin in her nightstand, along with some other basic medication, just in case. She hated that bitter taste of medicine on her tongue that lasted for days, if not weeks, but desperate times call for desperate needs. And she certainly was desperate.
Refusing to untangle her limbs from the cozy blanket, Asia extended her arm from under the covers and blindly felt around for the familiar outlines of her wooden nightstand, then frowned when her fingers grabbed at nothing. “Gah,” she muttered, then swiftly threw the blanket off of her and sat up in her bed. That was when several pretty disturbing things occurred to her, all at once. One: it most certainly wasn’t her bed. Her bed was wide and cozy and nothing like the one she was sitting on, one that, to her astonishment, looked as if it belonged to a hospital. Two: she was wearing a pair of grey, worn out sweatpants and a bright orange t-shirt that said… Pham Calf-Hood? Trying to fight her dyslexia made her headache even worse, but she didn’t own any sweatpants and orange, especially that bright, was no doubt her least favorite color. Three: that room, that place she was in, had about a dozen beds just like the one she was sitting on neatly lined along the walls, like a… public clinic, or something like that. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t her bedroom.
Then what in the world was she doing there?
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[/font][/size][/center]i sincerely hope that E l e n a replies, otherwise this is a waste of 5 0 2 words. it was made by q u i n n i e t h e p o o h. well, kids, we've quoted d r u m m i n g n o i s e b y f l o r e n c e a n d t h e m a c h i n e. and sorry it's short, I swear I meant it to be longer. ]x credit for the header to sarabi ! @ caution.
