I think this story will get better as new chapters keep coming – well, that's what I've convinced myself to think...
This is only short, but it's my favourite chapter so far.
Mark continued to lay on his bed listening to the music. He couldn't care less that the song playing was a song he couldn't stand, it helped him to think about other things and not what had happened to him that day.
He must've fallen asleep as some point, because the next time he checked his clock it was almost time for his mum to come home from work. Mark jumped off his bed, turned off the radio and made his way down stairs. It was starting to get dark and Mark could hear the sound of the rush hour traffic on the road not too far from where he lived.
He knew that his mum would want him to at least start the dinner, even if that meant he only cut a few things. So, he began to rummage the cupboards for things that could go into cottage pie. After realising that there was no mince, Mark put on his coat and headed for the door. He made sure he had enough money on him and maybe some extra for a packet of skittles if he felt like it, before he opened the door.
Except he couldn't.
Mark checked to see if he had locked the door the last time he had come through it. But he didn't see anything that meant the door wouldn't open. So he tried again: still nothing. After a few tries Mark hit the door hard with his fist and banged his head against the hard wood.
"Please, just leave me alone! Why do you keep doing this to me? I don't know who you are, but please stop!" Mark shouted out as he looked up at the ceiling.
Mark continued to try and open the door, but each try was useless. Suddenly, pain ran through his skull and he collapsed in a heap on the floor holding his head as if it would help the pain. Mark screamed out in agony and curled up into a ball on the laminate flooring. He felt like his brain was going to explode.
The pain subsided for a little while and Mark thought that was it until another wave of pain hit him, but this time a voice came with it:
'You will all die soon. You and your little planet! You are no match for our race. We have control now.'
The voice was low and dark. Something wasn't right. Mark screamed out again, begging for it to stop. It was no use. His brain was boiling. Every inch of his body ached from the tension. He could barely hear the sound of the garage door opening and his mum calling his name. He continued to scream; continued to beg; but nothing worked, nothing stopped the pain in his head. Mark thought he was going to die.
He soon felt arms around his body; holding him tight; stroking his brown hair; whispering his name over and over his mum tried hard to calm him down.
It wasn't long before Mark collapsed into a dead faint in his mother's arms.