|Attack of the Narrator!
Author: cdf320 PM
When you can actually hear the person narrating your life, it gets a little irritating...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - Words: 804 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Published: 06-23-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2926396
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Sam woke up in the morning with the distinct feeling that today would be different. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, wondering why this had happened to her.
"Nothing's happened to me. Stop making things up. Actually, just stop narrating my life! Leave me alone already, would you?"
Sam waved her fist at the ceiling in anger, knowing that the narrator cared not for such things. Why should a narrator try to sympathize with the subject of a story?
"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"
Sam shouted angrily at the ceiling. She was an annoying subject, one full of potential yet lacking in determination. She stormed to her closet, throwing shirt after shirt on the bed. She pulled a suitcase from the depths of the closet and began throwing the shirts inside, along with several changes of underwear from the top drawer of her dresser.
"Then Sam pulled an AK-47 from inside her suitcase and shot the asshole narrating her life."
Sam mocked from her bed. She was unaware that insulting the narrator might cost her something precious; perhaps even her life.
"So what, you're threatening me now?"
Sam shouted at the ceiling. She threw several pairs of pants into the suitcase, including the pair she threw up in last month when she rode the Tower of Terror ride while she was on vacation.
"Do you really have to tell everyone that?"
Sam zipped the suitcase shut and proceeded down the stairs, where she had once seen a spider and tripped, rolling all the way to the bottom and breaking her ankle. Sam's face flushed a bright, unattractive red as she realized what the narrator was doing.
"Okay, I'm sorry for calling you an asshole."
She proceeded to walk gracefully down the stairs, like an award-winning ballerina. Sam had a peculiar way of walking that made people stare at her as she went by- in a positive way, of course.
Sam mumbled as she nodded in greeting to her mother, who was sitting at the table pouring over the morning newspaper. Literally. She was now pouring milk into a bowl of cereal, conveniently placed just farther than the newspaper on the table. "Good morning, sweetie! Are you ready for the big day?" Her mother asked, barely concealing her excitement.
"I can hear her!"
Sam shouted at the ceiling, startling her poor mother and causing her to spill the milk all over the table. "Honey, I thought we talked about this." Her mother said, mopping up the spilled milk with a bright orange washcloth.
"I know, mom. Sorry."
Sam replied, glaring up at the ceiling before taking a bite of her cereal. She did not speak to her mother as they finished breakfast, nor as they headed into the car, nor as they drove down the highway. There was a bug on the windshield, and Sam kept staring at it, waiting for the rain to wash it away. It was disgusting, an ever present overtone of how quickly death could happen, and it led her to fear her upcoming operation-
"Leave me alone!"
Sam shouted, beating her fist hard against the center console. Her mother swerved the car, narrowly missing a school bus full of kindergarteners, and continued driving to the hospital. Once they had arrived, Sam could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she glared up at the ceiling once more, angered that the narrator was telling the world how she was feeling. She was about to speak at the narrator once more when the doctor arrived, ready to bring her into surgery. Sam struggled to understand the doctor, as the narrator continually distracted her by over analyzing the doctor's haircut. It was short, so clearly he was into that low-maintenance style, but it was just long enough to suggest that the doctor did indeed care about his hairstyle.
"That's not what I'm thinking about!"
She shouted, causing both her mother and the doctor to look at her like she was insane. Sam began shouting angrily at the narrator, causing the doctor to quietly signal some nurses… who… slipped… her… some…thing…that….made….her…..thoughts…s….l….o…w….
"Yes, honey, it's me."
"It's so… quiet!"
"Yes, they got the tumor out without much difficulty at all. You shouldn't be hearing the voices again."
"I've never felt so alone…"
"Sam, this is how everyone else feels. You'll get used to being normal eventually."
"Yes, normal. Now you've got to get some sleep, so you can rest up and we can go home."
"I won't hear the narrator ever again?"
"No honey, I don't think you ever will."