Good morning. I assume it’s the morning anyway. I can’t see outside.
I’m sorry I haven’t blogged in a while. I’ve been really busy the last few weeks, eating, drinking, sleeping, getting kidnapped, and having to bring the car in to get repaired.
Note: That’s not a chronological list.
I was on my way home from work when it happened; it’s only a walk for five minutes to the warehouse from home that I take when I don’t have my car, and it was during the return walk at 8-of-the-evening-clock when it did happen.
Where? I don’t remember. Not far.
Who? I couldn’t catch their faces, but they were well-built and wore coveralls, and I did see a van that was parked close by. There were ladders on this van. Perhaps they were a gang of commercial painter/hoodlums or something, but they were definitely shady.
I am currently at St. Andrew’s Hospital, and I’ve been told by the staff that I’ve been here for more than a week. Nobody knows who the mugs were. Or they won’t tell me. That’s a possibility, because they are very weird here.
They have the curtains closed, so I can’t see outside. I’d ask to be sat up–I’m too weak to help myself–but the nurse just says no. Playing with the buttons didn’t do anything but help me raise my legs or tilt to either side. Then I’d ask for water but she says no. I’ve asked several times for her to open the window but she tells me that I need more rest and sunlight will make it hard for me to rest so just rest please and stop asking about the flipping window.
They won’t let me eat anything but McDonald’s. I have nothing against McDonald’s, but I don’t really have anything for it, either, and so it’s strange to be both willing to eat hospital food and still being denied.
I do actually need water. I’m writing this post as I wait for the nurse to come with it finally.
And now I have it. She asked what I was writing and I told her the truth–I’m blogging. She asked what about and I lied–self-help. Now she’s gone.
The fact is that I’m the one who needs help. I feel trapped. I am trapped. I feel, therefore I am. Q.E.D.
I called the warehouse an hour ago on my bedside phone and got no response, despite the fact that the wall clock read 9:30, so either the clock is inaccurate or Wally left his office key home. It wouldn’t be the first time. He lives a half-hour away. All highway miles. Forty-five minutes away when he wakes up late.
I can’t concentrate. I’m seeing colors. No wait, that’s just a memory. Blood everywhere. No wait, that’s red paint. Hang on, I’m getting something. It was a red building. A barn? No, it wasn’t a barn. A fire station? No, just be quiet for a minute and let me think. I don’t know. It’s all so foggy. London? No, leave me alone!
I have to get out of here. I inch myself to the edge of my bed but lose all strength. I sit for a while and then think of a joke: “Why didn’t the standard, foot-long ruler get lonely? Because a metric ruler was centimeter!”
On the count of three I lifted myself to my feet and, with great doing, had stumbled to the wall to support myself.
Floor tile after floor tile after floor tile, I watched the floor tiles pass under me as I passed over them without passing out. Before I knew it, I was at the door. *bump* Ouch! I hit my head on said door. I opened it.
Much to my discombobulation, I observed what appeared to be the inside of a small garage marked with gardening equipment and a small mower. The garage door was open, and the yard outside was a beautifully landscaped site, with flowers running along a proper wooden fence, huge trees canvassing the whole yard like a local politician, and a sprinkler making its spritzy rounds across the green grass.
I shed the garage and saw that there stood a very fine, very immaculate stone-wall house just at the end of the yard, facing away from me. I walked slowly and with great pain to the front lawn and saw that the lights were on.
I jumped back before anyone might’ve been able to see me. Crouching, I snuck around to the side of the house and peered in, shaking. I saw no one.
Just as I started stealthily crossing back to the front and heading down the driveway to the sidewalk, a big, old, loud red truck zoomed up the street and parked in front of the house. Panicked, I ran, lopsided and limping, as fast as I could away and down the street.
“Hey,” the driver of the truck, an older woman, 50s or so, a Taurus surely, shouted as she slammed her door and pursued me. “You can’t leave!” she followed up.
I couldn’t run any longer. I stopped and got down on the ground. “Leave me alone!” I shouted. “I don’t know who you are! Just leave me alone!”
She came closer and stared down at me as I tried to regain my breath. “I know who you are!” she said, smirking a smirk of evil while laughing. She dragged me back to the house.
*This post will be continued.*