[You can find the link to the image here. I’m starting with Day 18.]
The floor tasted like dirt. The only reason why I knew it was a floor was because my face was cold and the tiles bit into my cheek. I spat out a few times but the grimy pebbles were still there.
It wasn’t like oh-let-me-try-some-dirt-because-I’m-five-years-old-and-I’m-curious- type of dirt. No. It was more like my-mouth-was-open-when-a-truck-load-of-dirt-suddenly-dropped-from-the-sky type of dirt. What was the difference? During one of those times you can’t even remember the experience. The one time well, it isn’t something you easily forget.
Groggily, I opened my eyes. What greeted me was a pair of wooden legs. I blinked a couple of times and realized I stared at the legs of a chair. Right. I was in the kitchen. There was no way I could forget the pale mustard color my mom liked to decorate with.
There was no strength in my body. Even lifting my head a few centimeters from the floor took every ounce of strength I didn’t have. Paper plates, red cups, and napkins were everywhere. A slow grin pull my lips. Graduation parties were no joke.
I couldn’t remember how many people had attended. Only a handful or two had been invited. Nothing special. Just something for my friends and I but so many people kept showing up. I hadn’t known the majority of them. Someone had spiked the punch. Weirdly enough, I don’t even remember drinking.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the lock click. My eyes snapped open. It suddenly dawn to me that if the kitchen looked like this, the other rooms in the house probably looked the same or worse.
The door screeched open and stopped. I closed my eyes as dread settled on my shoulders. It’d been nice that my parents had agreed to a small party and promised to come home later than planned. Now, they were going to kill me. I wondered if the college would refund your money due to death.