It seems that I have overslept.

Thanks to the spring break from college, I’m not too worried about it. Still, if I wake up too late, I’ll get a lecture from my parents, holiday or not.

But my eyelids are heavy and the bed is warm. Reason is simply not a factor here. My internal clock is out of whack, and the cold weather isn’t helping. I let my tired thoughts drift back into nothingness.

Come to think of it, am I actually tired? I feel lazy, of course, but that’s something I always feel.

My eyelids offer no resistance, yet I can’t see a thing. I try to move, and end up moving. Ah, to be able to move and yet feel trapped…there’s this feeling of profoundness here that I can’t put my finger on.

Actually, it might be that I have wrapped myself in my blanket. I unconsciously do that sometimes. Especially when its cold.

Come to think of it, I don’t feel cold.

Am I dreaming? It’s the only explanation, but I’m perfectly conscious. On the other hand, if I’m awake there is one, small problem…

I’m not breathing.

I can feel my “blanky” on top of me, so I still have a sense of touch. Yet why can’t I feel my own breath? Why am I not choking for air? I feel nothing from my chest, which is kind of scaring me.

Panicking, I begin to flail. My arms are heavy, and I feel the pressure strain directly against my blanket. My legs are the same too.

Then an idea appeared in my head. Its the only Donald card…I mean trump card I can think of. The ace.

Go fish.

So I start flopping like a fish and rocking left and right. And then I fell of my bed.

And I kept falling. No, more like rolling.

And it wasn’t a smooth ride.

But something good came out of it. My blanket came undone in the middle of the ride.

After coming to a stop, I understood that I might have broke my ribs. Strangely, there was no pain. Weird.

Flaying and rolling a bit more I finally liberated myself from blanky. Only that it wasn’t blanky. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know where I am.

Did I get abducted or something?

Though its too dark to make anything out, I can see an elevated platform with some kind of stone…table? Dunno. Guessing that’s where I was sleeping. That’s not a sacrificial stone table, right? You know, the one from Narnia? I wonder if this is some cult headquarters in an undiscovered ruins or something.

Connecting with the platform is a flight of stairs with 10 steps I think. The flight of stairs is currently covered with the not-my-blanky that had been wrapped around me like a friggin burrito not too long ago.

They see me rolling

They hatin~

TBH, I’m more than a bit scared. Where the hell am I? Who brought me here? I see no TV screen so maybe no twisted gore-puzzle loving psycho’s gonna want to play a game with me.

Guess it’s just me and my clothes on my skin. Ah, let’s check what’s in my pocket. It’s a something I learnt from watching this movie about 3 drunk guys in Vegas.

What’s in my…eh? Where’s my pocket? Why can I feel my thighs but not my pants? Wtf dude? I don’t have my shirt on too. I am friggin naked!

I’m kinda thankful that its dark.

Ah, come to think of it, I am so thirsty and hungry. How long was I out? Pretty sure I was drugged.

I squint and claw through the dark as I walk towards the elevated platform. For some reason it’s hard to walk. Maybe I slept on my leg or something?

There’s another table here. Except, this one looks more like a table. There’s a bottle on the table.

I picked it up, only to find my hand shaking. Why is it shaking? I placed my other hand on top of my shaking hand. I waited till it stopped shaking. Note to self: Visit a doctor.

Fumbling on the top I find a cork instead of the usual cap. So this is alcohol? But I thought the bottles were bigger.

You know what they say, there’s a first time for everything.

I opened the stopper and sniffed.

Doesn’t smell like anything suspicious. I take a swig. Its salty, spicy and a bit sour, but good. What the heck is this stuff? So good. Almost like bottled curry, except its not. But for sure this is no alcohol.

I chug till it can’t pour any more. Good stuff. Now I need to find something to eat.

Wait, somethings not right. Why am I so relaxed? Why would I not suspect a bottle so conveniently placed here?

Meh.

I walk opposite to the platform until I notice something spine chilling.

Pale blue dots. In pairs. Looking at me. Advancing.

It’s the cultists. I knew it! They committed some taboo ritual thingamajigs and they want me to take the blame for it. I’m sure of it.

I wanted to scream.

I screamed.

But what came out of my mouth wasn’t a bloodcurdling scream of a woman getting hacked into pieces, but rather a wheezing, grating and rumbling sound. It echoed throughout the vicinity.

The pale dots faltered for a second. But that’s all. Hands grabbed me from the sides and dragged me away.

I can’t retaliate. I can’t shake them off. Too many of them. I wanted to say something like “Dude, at least let me get my pants” but don’t think the glow-eyed freaks will listen.

I tried to stop by resisting with my legs, grinding them against the floor. One of the freaks kicked me from the back, making me fall on the floor face first.

Might as well go along with it. But I am pretty sure what’s going to happen next.

They’re going to make me their king. Or at least that’s how it went in one of the books I’ve read. But then again I dont think one would kick their would be king.

As I was thinking reality-escapist thoughts, I was brought into a considerably lit and very wide hall. I was dragged across its tattered carpet till we stopped before a huge stone double doors. Thanks to the light, I could see the sentries on guard. And I immediately wished I had not looked at them.

It wasn’t the pressure these armoured sentry that made me make the wish. Neither was it the sinister looking great sword and great axe that they were wielding respectively.

I turned to look at the ones who had dragged me by my arms till now, and then at my arms, just to confirm my reality. After seeing both of their faces, I accepted it.

All of them are dead.

Not just dead, but dead for a long, long time.

Fear gripped me like vice.

Not because I was being dragged away by the undead.

But because one look at my arms and theirs, and the cross-reference more than confirmed it: I am one of them.