"Buh-deep! Buh-deep!"
Whack!
I slam my fist down on the alarm clock by my bed. Four in the morning.
Why was that thing yelling at me anyway?
"That little bean-brain!" I hiss.
It just figures. I finally get to sleep and my idiot of a little sister
pulls a prank on me. For an idiot, she's rather smart, since she planned
her joke to happen while she was at her dad's for the weekend. I'll have to
wait until Monday night for revenge.
I'm awake now though - No point in trying to get back to sleep. Mentally
grumbling, I get up to look for a pen and paper. My head spins as I stand
up too fast, and I trip over a pair of misplaced high-tops. Trying to
regain my balance, I slip on a stack of old sketches and bash my head on
the low, slanted ceiling. Crimony, that hurts!
Lucky there's nobody home, so I don't have to worry about waking them up.
While contemplating this pleasant twist of fate, I accidentally step on the
skateboard my friend lent me, very quickly finding a seat in a basket of
what had been nicely folded laundry.
"Who put that there?"
Attempt number three is successful as I find my binder and pen, but knock
over the trashcan. Great, just great. Oh well, it's just crumpled papers. I
sweep the pile into the overturned trashcan with my foot, and, using a move
I learned by playing soccer, stand it up again.
I kick a ton of junk under the dresser, and then sit on the floor to
write. Within only half an hour, a small mountain of nonsensical cinquains
accumulates next to me. That's enough, I tell myself.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam flitting across my ceiling startles me. I
jump up and look out my window. There's a boy, probably only a few years
younger than me, digging around in Mum's flowerbed.
I grab my own flashlight and run down the stairs. I've got him now! It's
probably the same kid that toilet-papered my car last week! I run out the
kitchen door just in time to see him duck behind a rather large hosta
plant.
What kind of idiot would hide behind a plant half his size? Never mind. I
jump over the garden fence, landing only a few feet from him. He closes his
eyes, obviously hoping I haven't seen him.
"What're you doing here?" I ask him.
"Um, I, well, y'know," he splutters. He gets up, finally realizing how
pointless hiding there is.
"I asked what you're doing here."
"Nothing!" he yelps. "I wasn't doing anything!"
There is a glint of red near his feet and I kneel to look at it more
closely.
"Dude, you smashed our reflector!" I pick up a piece and wave it at him.
"Wasn't me," he mutters.
I sigh. No point in trying to get him to admit. Besides, it won't
accomplish anything. I almost start laughing as I realize he's scared of
me.
"Go on, before you get into trouble," I tell him more softly.
"You're not calling 5-0 on me?"
"No."
He suddenly seems less tense, and he starts walking down the road,
probably back to his house. I climb back over the fence, and am about to go
inside, when I hear him call after me.
"Hey, do you have a lighter I can borrow?"
"No, sorry."
"Oh. Alright." He shuffles away, around the corner and out of sight.
A lighter? That would mean he - Oh, duh. I jump over the fence again, and
scuff at the mulch where he had carefully placed the pieces of the smashed
reflector. Nothing. He must have already dug up whatever it was he had been
hiding there. Or else he hadn't gotten around to hiding it yet. Either way,
there was nothing.
Over the fence one more time. I find it ironic that he had been trying to
hide in exactly the same spot my kitten had hidden when a car had hit it,
exactly a year ago to date. Poor Mica. Mica Parva, we had called it. Little
Sparkle.
Odd, really.
I lock the door behind me and trudge up the stairs. The one weekend that
I have the house to myself, and idiots are constantly interrupting it.
Back in my room, I step on the same skateboard as earlier, this time
landing in, and breaking, an open dresser drawer. Speaking of idiots, maybe
I should clean my room.
Nah.
I climb into bed and have nearly gotten back to sleep, when something
bright yellow catches my eye. What the -? Stepping over the small mountains
of clutter, I walk over to the dresser. It's a small, stuffed duck made of
yellow fuzzy material, that, when the moon hits it just right, seems to
glow. Evil thing.
Trying not to think about the glowing inanimate object, and how creepy it
looks, I jump under the covers. Stop invading my thoughts! I turn on my
radio, but it doesn't help.
Sighing, I give up and start looking for my keys. They should be in my
purse. Where's the purse? Stupid thing. I'm always losing it. There,
hanging on a nail on the wall. Duh. Right where I left it. I pull the keys
out and flip through my numerous key chains. A stretchy bungee-ish thing. A
pikachu - why do I have that? Several keys that I can't remember what
they're supposed to unlock. Half a cat that my sister broke last week. A
Linkin Park key chain. A weird piece of cardboard - no idea what that
thing's purpose is. I rip the cardboard off, but then remember my other
little sister, the nice one, gave it to me. I put it on the dresser, making
a mental note to fix it in the morning. There! The thing I was looking for!
I take the tiny padlock off of its key ring, using a little key that hangs
above my door.
I grab the evil glowing duck and make sure the padlock will fit on the
metal ring around the duck's neck. Now, what to lock it to? Suddenly, I
spot the battered guitar case, which, regardless of the fact that I can't
play worth beans, has been in the corner of my room all summer. I snap the
tiny padlock, with the duck attached, to the handle of the guitar case.
Finally, I can go back to bed. No more worries about having weird dreams
about murderous glowing poultry. At least, one would hope.
Yes, I will probably forget why there is a duck stuck to the borrowed
guitar case by morning, but that's okay.
There's a faint tap on my window as the wind bumps a tree branch against
the glass.
"Good-night, tree."
I move my hand to turn off my radio, when it brushes against something
furry. I scream and flick the light on. It's my stuffed dog. Oh, no. Here
we go again!