Silence. After who knew how long, that absence of all noise is finally what my eyes open at. It's a silence so oppressive and intense that it presses down on me and fills not only my ears but my whole being with tingly static.
That static is a strange sort of feeling. In fact, it's almost a not-feeling. Like, a feeling not quite there but still unquestionably present in this place I find myself lying on my back in. If it even is a place. From what I can see in the absolute darkness around me, it's sort of like a not-place made just to match the not-feeling. There really is no way to describe it besides the cliched "shroud of darkness." That's all I can feel anywhere--a static, oppressive shroud-like thing pushing me down and keeping lying here. . .
But where even is "here?" Making one of my hands move through the thick air all around me, my fingers have barely begun to tentatively feel their way out before they can search no further. A something is in their way. It's cold and hard and I just have to jerk my hand back to my side--
Stop that, Kyle. Don't be a sissy. Sure, I have no idea where I am, but whatever it was my fingers brushed certainly doesn't feel alive.
Mainly just thinking about the "inorganic" status of the thing to bolster my spirits, I lift my hands back off the slab I'm lying on and reach out. The cold hard surface is still there, but this time my mind is a little more focused. I can tell it really isn't living. Nope, it is cold as ice and hard as stone, not to mention flat as well, a wall.
Probably because it is a wall. A wall that blocks me in somewhere and, as my hands reach upward, I can tell it doesn't just end at my sides. Just a little above my face, actually, there's a a ceiling. Or what seems to be a ceiling. If it is, that would make this a sort of room, and it is definitely the smallest room I've ever been in because, well, there is no room, if you know what I mean.
Okay, I will be the first to admit that was insanely weak. But I really have no clue what is going on here, so forgive the rotten puns, okay? Right now I'm a little busy trying to press on the sides of this box/room and see if there is any way I can force myself out. I'll admit that I've never been the strongest kid at my school (in fact, I try not to participate in any sort of physical sport or, well, work out plan unless it's a donut run; and then, I just walk the mile to eat my donuts), but this barrier is just intense. . . Well, hell, I can't even make any of these smooth surfaces move an inch.
I don't even know where I am, but something wants to keep me here.
Well, on the bright side, I guess this gives me time to review my life, or whatever crap people supposedly do when they find themselves who-knew-where. Maybe taking stock of my pathetic seventeen years of life would somehow help me figure out how the hell I even got here.
So, to start at the beginning, my name is Kyle Ewen Fischmit. Yeah, it is a stupid name. My parents thought it would be cool to combine their names (Fischer and Schmit) when they got married, so I got stuck with that catastrophe. Then, my mom has this third cousin in England or somewhere with knights named "Sir Ewen." He did something real important and they had this whole feast in his honor. . . I don't know. I've never met the guy, but my parents thought he was such a big deal they had to throw his name in mine somewhere.
Basically, they just wanted to make sure I can't date until I'm twenty-one.
Honestly, though, they didn't need to do anything special to make sure of that. I have a pretty serious rep around school for being both the weirdest and the nerdiest guy in the world. And maybe I am. . . I mean, I'm one of the few males willing to actually read (or admit it and carry books openly), and I constantly criticize movies for not sticking to the story line of said books properly. I have more superhero shirts than most girls have pairs of shoes (and I have a girl kid sister, so I know what I'm talking about). My room is basically straight out of those multi-purpose comic and CD stores at the mall, and yes, I do still play Pokemon with my friends. But my ultra-secret collection of mint quality ewok action figures is a prize even most of them have never seen. They would probably try playing with them and you just. . . You don't mess with ewoks--
Gosh, I am a nerd. I just wish I was the type of smart nerd who could use one of the screws in my glasses to push some tiny button in a tricorder (yes, I watch Star Trek, too) and bust myself out. Or, it would also be so neat if my future self showed up and shed some light on the situation (both literally and metaphorically).
Wait, speaking of myself. . . Could I have been the one to put myself in here? Maybe this was all part of some cool idea I'd had. Or maybe it was one of those reenactment things my parents had dragged me to. Some of those were easily boring enough for me to fall asleep with no warning. All I really had to do was think back and--
"OW!!! Oh, mmmmm!!!!" Even with no one else around, I try to cut off my embarrassing screams of pain before they get, well, too embarrassing. But don't worry--I didn't just get attacked by some dark-dwelling predator or find myself suddenly in the hold of a tractor beam. Nope, all I did was try to face-palm myself to jog my memory. But, see, I had already forgotten that the ceiling/roof/top-of-box was very, very low and, yeah. . . In retrospect, it's pretty obvious that I would slam my hand against the ceiling/roof/top-of-box with a lot of force. Not enough to open it but still a lot of force.
Yeah, I sound like the wimp I probably am, but what am I supposed to do? I have no idea what is going on or where I am and there is nothing here.
Nothing but silence.
