Tim's POV: A Fictional Narrative

“Yes, I’m here.” You placed your hands with his, squeezing it gently to reassure him.

“Obviously, can you HELP me up!” She then squatted down and helped me up. I rested against the bed as she spoke.

Then they walked out the door. As soon as they were gone he started asking me all sorts of things. “Have you started the book? How is the fair Gwen? How are you?

He was now left alone in a familiar territory. All around the house, white sheets covered many artifacts that once entertained an audience. The house had a slight smoky odour, which tickled his nose. Although he tried to stay quiet, each step he took the floor creaked in response, probably due to the renovations the house was under.

The boy suddenly spoke, “Don't worry. They stopped drugging you a few days ago. That’s just to give your body nutrients. Just close your eyes. And don’t make a scene when they come back, or they’ll drug you again.”

In a combined combination of concern and confusion, he excused himself only to return a moment later with Deidra by his side. “My, my, would you look what the cat drug in,” Skylar spoke first.

As if one cue, a person with a tight, gray mask entered the room with three suspicious pills. The person handed them to us, and sat on a previously unseen chair while

I had just gotten home from school and was standing before my front door starring at it in apprehension of what would most likely greet me on the other side. "Hopefully, today's different," I thought tiredly. Opening the front door I stepped silently inside and quietly closed the door then headed towards my room only to pause at the bottom of the stars as I realized there was no sound coming from upstairs like there usually was. I resumed walking up the stairs thinking to myself "wow, for once they've actually considered that they have a son living with them." At least that's what I thought until, right as I was about to enter my room, loud moans sounded from two different directions. "Or not," I thought in annoyance and slammed my door which did nothing to stop the moans.

“Where are you going?” He asked me like it mattered. It seemed like a genuine question.

As I neared my house my heart...oh my heart. It completely dropped at that moment. The house had been burned and only a few walls remained. Without even thinking I walked out of the cover of the trees and began to stare in disbelief

He starting digging through bones throwing them aside. It soon revealed a pile of building materials. He began

TIM is a 21-year-old college student. He lives in a dorm with two roommates. He writes short stories as a hobby and to keep himself occupied on lonely Friday nights. Moreover, he drives a 2001 silver Honda accord with a 2008 Obama bumper sticker. Tim is a very compassionate person because he cares more about other people than himself. But that can be his downfall because Tim is gullible. He trusts people too easily and sometimes they take advantage of that fact. His roommates are always late on their rent because Tim always lets them slide believing that they would pay him next time. As a result, Tim would have to work extra shifts to pay his share and his roommates’ share.

Swirls of music and ribbons of memories flashed in my mind like jagged pieces of a shattered window pane, and then it went black, a movie that would never have an ending... My ending was waking up from a too warm hospital bed, warmth from a comatose person who woke up to a world of silent symbols, mocking lies, and the language of the dead. Slowly sliding out of the too-warm bed, the first touch of my feet on the marble floor was far too cold - it felt as if someone had took a stun gun to my whole body. My memory was a jigsaw puzzle that was left incomplete on purpose, and felt like it was tampered with for caution.

They broke down the door, and the room was open for the group to see. Covering the

This is a story I’ve been meaning to tell for a while, and this is also my first post here. I swear this is a true story and I’m glad I’ve found the proper forum to recollect these memories.