Your Research

You open your eyes.

You find yourself back in your room. You don’t remember anything from last night after eating in the car. You guess that Tommy and Steph must have carried you up the stairs and into your room – that was really nice of them. You make a mental note to get them something nice to say thank you to them for it – a box of chocolates, maybe. A box of chocolates each might be better – you’ll see how much money you have when you go to get them. A student loan can only stretch so far.  

You sit up, and feel the dull ache coming from the space between your shoulder blades. Your back still hurts, but your leg is slightly better. You see that Steph has bandaged it  – you can tell it was her both from the fact that she’s the only one in the house with any experience with stuff like this (she’s studying medicine) and because she’s drawn all over them in sharpie. You smile at some of the cartoon animals telling you to ‘get better pretty damn quick, because as much as Stephanie is lovely she isn’t hauling your heavy ass home in the rain a second time if this happens again’. You put a bit of weight on it, and decide that you’ll be able to walk on it, albeit with a limp. You hobble downstairs, and pour yourself some cereal. It’s almost midday, and everyone else has left the house. Luckily, it’s a Saturday, so there’s nothing important going on today. You can spend it as you wish.

After watching TV for an hour or two, you leave your dishes by the side of the sink and slowly make your way back upstairs.  You think about what you could do with your time. You could waste more time doing nothing much, you could call on some of your friends to see if any of them want to come round, or… Your eye falls on your bracelet, and your mind is made up for you. You need to do more research.

A few hours of intense Internet searching, once again, fails to bring any information to light. You get frustrated and want to scream. Surely, you think, there must be some kind of information out there! This can’t be the first time this has happened to someone, can it? You pause as you think deeper into that scary thought. If you are the first to experience this, then there is no one who can tell you how to control the bracelet. You’ll just keep having these random incidents that will generally mess with your life. You can take the bracelet off, yes, but when you have done so before it has always found a way to get back on your wrist. Sometimes it is through you subconsciously putting it back on out of habit, other times it just seems to appear there. Which doesn’t seem so far fetched to you any more, considering what it’s been doing over the past few days.

But wait  - the guy that attacked you. He seemed to know about it. He had said that more orbs would come, or that he was surprised more hadn’t come, or something. That must mean he’d seen it before, right?

You smile at this new hope. That means there must be more out there! Then surely there must be someone, somewhere who can tell you more! You fly back into your research with renewed vigour and determination. And the slight hint of fear that if you’re wrong, the bracelet will be nothing but bad news.

Hours later, you stop again, exhausted. You hold your head in your hands and groan. Still nothing. You’ve gone through every search engine. Every major library’s records, worldwide. Every different way you could describe what the bracelet is, and what it can do. And what did you get?

Diddly squat.

Your phone buzzes. You reach over with one hand, the other under your chin, and open up the new text message. It’s from your Mom, just wondering if you were free and wanted to talk. You haven’t talked to her all week, so you suppose you should. You dial her number and put the phone up to your ear. It’s ringing.

You close your eyes. 

The End

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