The rat squealed and cried out, whimpering as I raised it by its tail, delicately taunting the ravenous python behind the glass. I laughed: stupid animals. I hurled the rodent with my off hand in a loop fashion and Sam caught it and within seconds it was gone. I laughed more, while he was starving, it would take hours before the famished feeling would dissipate. Stupid animals, almost as bad as us; humans that is. I sighed, bored and discontent now. I glanced over the many trophies that adorned my shelves, sports, music, whatever; I was good at it all. I was the best. But I wanted more. This was bullshit. I shouldn't be living in my parent's house at 24, mooching off their food, their money, and I could see they were getting tired of hearing my bedsprings being broken every night and a different girl every week. Ugh. Nothing made me happy anymore.

I traversed the staircase like it was leading to an ancient cavern, Indian Jones style, taking the railing and the wall as my path. Luckily my parents weren't home or else I would have never heard the end of how "dangerous" that was. Danger was bullshit. I've been hurt one time in my self and that when I was too young to be as dexterous and agile and fit as I am now. Those 26 stitches were like a big band-aid, and I fucking walked half a mile to get back to my house with a leg gushing blood; I think that should fucking count for SOMETHING. Ugh.

The kitchen was empty, no food anywhere...sure, fruit and vegetables, but what the fuck am I, a rabbit? I want some fucking real food. There was a steak in the fridge, but like I'm going to wait for that to cook. Ugh. Fuck! I'm so hungry...ripping open the drawers now I finally find something worth eating, it's some kind of rare chocolate from Europe. Probably a gift from my aunt (she's a model even though she's like 50, I still hate British girls).

GRAH! More problems, the fucking thing won't open with this fucking plastic, ugh. I flip through the drawers looking for the sharpest knife I can, this thing will open and I will have my food. Pushing the knife lightly against my arm to test it's sharpness it begins to bleed immediately. Perfect. I like my arm to remove the blood and begin to slice apart the packaging to get to what I desire most. But I...I stop...all of a sudden I feel weak. Powerless. Energy slowly leaving my body. I feel...faint...I glance at my arm, it's red...I laugh...what a bad time for this...

The light. I see it. The bright room, I hear voices, they sound friendly enough. My arm no longer hurts, but the scar is there, I can see it vividly, much larger than I had thought I made it. Damn chef knives...I keep walking into the brightness, I'll just get some food from someone here, I'm sure they have some to spare. They better at least. Or some sunglasses. Fuck.