Demented chapter three

October 25, 2012
By katherine salcido SILVER, Lewisville, Texas
katherine salcido SILVER, Lewisville, Texas
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Chapter three
The living room is right next to the kitchen, and in the middle is a hall way that cuts through them leading to a bathroom, a closet, and three bedrooms .A microwave is at the right of me and the oven on the other. The half empty fridge is next to where the hall way is and an island right smack in the middle. The walls are a minty-green and the cabinets a red- brown wood.
Sitting on the kitchen counter, I recalled the voice I encountered with today. Why am I hearing voices? Who’s saying them? What does it want from me? Am I going crazy? Insane? All of these questions rambling through my head. My thoughts are interrupted when my mom bursts through the door and says “I’m home!” She passes the living room into the kitchen, carrying two handful bags of egg rolls and too-go boxes.
“Hi, honey, I guess I made it on time.” She kissed me on the forehead.
I glanced at the clock on the microwave; 9:15 p.m. On time was three hours and forty-five minutes ago.
We sat at the island and unloaded the Chinese food. I open the box to see chow-mien, mandarin chicken, and orange chicken, the sweet- exotic aroma making my stomach rumble.
“How was your first day back at school?” mom asks, with her mouth full of hot rice.
“It was fine.” Not bothering to tell her about my little episode.
“Hmmmm.” Was all she said.
Our conversation never got any further. Her ‘how are you?’ and ‘are you alright?’ questions with my responses of ‘fine’ and ‘okay’ shortened our family time. But it’s her fault because she doesn’t bother to hear what I have to say. She cares about me and stuff, and I have food and shelter, but she does her best to keep away from me. I think she likes being at the hospital than being at home, she never complains about staying late, not thinking that she has a daughter at home alone.
With nothing on her mind to say, she gets up, dumps her box in the trash and says “Well, goodnight,” and leaves me for the rest of the night.
I waited until I heard the click! Of the door and put my unfinished food in the fridge, saving my stomach for something else, and got out two sodas. I open the cabinet above me to remove a mug of coffee, relieved that mom didn’t catch the smell, and head down the hall into my room. Once in my room, I sat on my black mushroom chair and began to drink from the mug. My bed is against the wall across from the door where the window is; a desk closes to the door, the closet at the left wall next to the door, and a big, squared rug in the middle of the floor.
Thinking I’ll be up all night, I drank from the mug first, almost burning my tongue and throat. I went for the soda next, chugging the can, cooling the numbness in my mouth. But when I finished the can, I began to feel my dinner come to my throat. Luckily, the bathroom was across from my room, an easy transportation to get me to the toilet. Hovering over the toilet gagging, glad I was able to make it without barfing on the hall way. After rinsing my mouth, the bile still fresh in my throat resenting me from continuing from drinking the second soda, I decided to force myself awake. I glanced at my mother’s unopened door, noting she didn’t even bother on checking me; I closed my door once again.
Leaning against the head of my bed, I tried to think of ways to stay up. I tried reading at first, but ended up finishing the book, then doing homework, not caring that we just got back from school, but left that aside. Instead, I looked across from me to see my “wall collage”, photos, drawings, and memoires with special meanings. The idea struck me when my grandma and I went to a museum to look at the prize-winning paintings. I was awed by some paintings and confused with others.
“Art has no perfect sense in structure”; she said’ “but shows the emotion of what the painter is feeling.”
“Then I want to make one too, on my wall, where I can fill up with my pictures and drawings. So show my feelings and the things that make me, me.”
“That is a wonderful idea,” And smiled.
To marvel at the pictures and memories from my childhood, but before I could start, Gran had died the two days later. At her funeral, I promised that I would continue to do my wall-collage, because she would have wanted me to.
When first grade started, our teacher, Mrs. Jones, wanted us to tell the class what we had did over the summer. When my turn came, I told them about my little ‘wall of museum’. The kids thought it was cool but a girl in particular thought it was a genius idea. Thus, began the beautiful friendship of Jess and me. We spent our years in elementary and middle school doodling and taking lots of pictures, until the film was done. Now we just take pictures and pin movie stubs. I could picture my gran saying, “Oh Ann, it’s beautiful, better than any picture in the museum.”
I feel my cheeks get hot as tears trail down my face. I lay my head down my pillow and thought, who would have thought that a sixteen year old would want their grandma. But it was more than that, she was like a best friend to me, a close sister, she knew me better than anyone else, including me. Feeling a throb in my head, I began to doze off, hearing a menacing laughter.
I get up, feeling draught and heavy from the ground. A blinding sun hung over me, and dry, hard sand below my feet. I notice that I’m in a desert of some sort, though of which doesn’t come to mind. I take my first step only to hear a sizzle and a burning feeling on my bare foot. I take another and now both my feet are in fire. I start to run; searching for place to stand, but it’s just a plain landscape. Breathing hard, I realize that this only a dream and all I needed was to wake up.
Wake up Angela. Please wake up.
All of a sudden, the sun seemed like it was getting closer, heat waves drifting in the air. My skin began to get hot, burning my legs, arms and boiling my face. I screamed trying to wake from this horrible nightmare, when I saw someone standing over me. A man I presume, wearing all black, and his face covered from his hood, but I had a gut feeling that I have seen him before. He bent down, inches from my face and smiled a most wicked grin, showing black, deadly teeth. I try to crawl away from him, but my arms and legs are now bones. He licks his lips and opens his cape to reveal bones himself, like a skeleton. He wraps his cape over me, and I fall into blackness.
I never woke up the next morning.

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