It felt like I had slept for days. My body ached when I tried to move. Amidst the darkness of my room I could feel the cold, outdoor air. I pawed the wall for my window, to check whether it had opened during the night. But there were no signs of my window or a source of the cold air. My head throbbed wildly. I tried to lift myself up. My body lagged behind me. I scuttled the best I could towards the door. Futilely I clawed at my body, trying to hurry it up.
Staggering out into the corridor I tried my hardest to find my way downstairs. On the way, my arm fell through one of the walls where my sister’s room should be. “What the hell was going on here?” I turned back and stared at my own bedraggled body fumbling around one minute, and falling through walls the next. Trying to shrug off my disorientation I opened up the door to the bathroom to find nothing but a blackened brick wall. My adopted parents’ house is a large detached British house, with a supported porch on the front and a gazebo looking extension to the back. Downstairs there’s a wide corridor that leads onto the main staircase and the front room. At the back of the corridor there’s the entrance to the large kitchen, dining room and Zen room where my new mum spends most of her time painting and entertaining guests. The staircase is an old and quite grand staircase that distracts visitors from a concealed door that leads down to a basement/pantry. Upstairs there’s the master bedroom, a large landing and the main bathroom. On the other side of the landing is the door to my sister’s room. Then finally tucked away towards the corner is the door to my room.
As I reached the base of the staircase, my vision started to blur. Beneath me the stairs began to move left and right, which threw me of balance. Once the dizzying blur recoiled, I could then crawl back to my feet. At least I could move again. I still had no clue where I was. It felt like home. If someone could turn my life into a jigsaw and put all the pieces in the wrong order, well that's what this felt like.
As I continued onwards I noticed the layout was wrong. The sofa was no longer fabric and it was no longer cream. In fact it was a dark, classy, purple and leather 10 seat sofa. This topped black n lilac fur pillows, give the room a completely different feel. It felt modern yet classic at the same time. Yet the wall paper was still the same. As I gazed at the delicate song birds, the empty cages and the music notes that delicately covered the walls, I felt something pass me. Looking around, I couldn’t see anybody. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a fine strip of pink ribbon blowing in the wind. Small pink, taffeta butterflies where heading toward the kitchen door, and I could hear a familiar calming voice humming a soothing tune.
As I grasped my head in agony I smelt a strange aroma. Inside the kitchen I saw a blurred figure. When I staggered through the door I saw Samuel, with a gracious posture. Half poised, as if he was supposed to be cooking. Long ribbons flowed from his wrists and back. He was wrapped in pink chiffon with roped tied across his chest in a ‘X’. Rope was coiled around his legs, making him look like he was wearing seriously kinky boot covers. In his left hand was a pink spatula. It was pointing towards his mouth. The spatula was laced with batter. There was no way for me to tell whether it was cake or pancake. I could only see that there was some on the tip of his tongue and nose. As I stood there taking in the sight, my vision began to spin again, my stomach lurched; my eyeballs swirled into my sockets. My legs crumpled. My head smashed against the stone floor.
Water! My ears felt like they were filled with water! A dull screaming began to emerge. It was getting closer and closer. Vibrating erupted through the floor. Light pierced through my eyelids. And I was warm again.