This may come off a bit awkward cuz it wouldn't let me use italics so i had to sub in ~ for italics. In this case italics usually stand for internal thoughts instead of spoken dialogue but in soome cases it just for emphasis. You'll get it. Sorry for any inconvenience.

(and *** indicates a flashback incase that part confuses you =P)

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Opening one eye I managed to distinguish the digital numbers of my clock apart from the fluorescent lighting surrounding the display. After a moment of blurred vision and heightened contrast, the time solidified before me. 7:42. Shit. I made a sound vaguely reminiscent of a shaken grizzly bear, and attempted to roll over and shut out the sunlight.
Pulling the covers over my head and tucking my toes under its edges, I tried to reform a warm sleep cocoon to no avail.
~It’s way too early to be thinking.~
Lying in bed I killed some time, debating the importance of owning an alarm clock that clearly has difficulty rousing me like it should. I couldn’t complain though. Waking to the Fab Four serenading me with Penny Lane is always a pleasant experience, even if they are forty minutes late. Must be the time difference in England, I mused. A few more minutes tick by. I’ve stalled enough.
I manage to slide my legs toward the edge of my mattress and push them off the bed, pivoting my body into an upright position. As my feet brushed the carpeting, my focus sharpened and shifted to the cell phone resting by my bedside. It was actually a rather nice phone, I suppose. Set in a vibrant orange plastic casing, I felt it matched my eccentric qualities quite nicely. Aside from that, I don’t know why I own the damn thing. It makes me happy and I enjoy the convenience. The irony in this being my aversion to most of the human race.
People are contradictory.
Not to say I hate people, I have friends. A few. The real kind. In fact, one of them was calling me now. My phone flashed and danced across the dresser, shaking to the chorus of a popular 80’s song I had a certain affinity for.
“Ehylo?” I croaked into the mouthpiece.
“Wow…you sound like shit, Nate. Wake up bro. I’ll be at your house in ten minutes. Be ready.”
The voice at the other end didn’t sound angry, it never sounds angry. Chase always manages to sound excited when he talks, in any meaning of the word. If anyone took more joy out of life then Chase Davenport, the best place to find them would be in an institution. If I beat his mother, he would find a way to twist it into a fascinating analysis of human behavior. I think I understand him, more then other people. Sometimes I’m just like him, most of the time I’m not.
People are contradictory.
I forgot he was still on the line.
“Oh…right. I’ll be ready. Give me five.”
“No. Really. We can’t be late today. Those better be the quickest fi…”
I hung up and set my phone down semi-consciously while he was in mid-sentence, and ran my fingers through my hair. It was long, at least by male standard, hanging a few inches below my ears. I don’t particularly like ears. Their existence bothers me to a point and I tend to keep mine hidden beneath a thick mane. My hair wasn’t exactly well managed either. Due to my Tonsurophobia, gained from several terrible haircuts from equally terrible barbers, I’ve let it grow out long, untamed, for about 6 months now.
Deciding to finally set my body in motion I trudged the short walk to my bathroom and flicked on the light to scrutinize myself in the mirror. I’m not egotistical or vain by any means, but I couldn’t help taking slight pleasure in what I saw there. Since I could remember, I was always the nerdy kid. Pale, weak, awkward, as well as any negative adjective of human physique you could obtain from the nearest thesaurus. Boys picked on me and girls wouldn’t take a second look at me once I started actually finding them attractive. Then High School happened. My skin cleared up, my body filled out, and I started wearing contacts. All those girls who I couldn’t get off my mind when I was younger started talking to me, and not one of them remembered me from junior high. Now facing the mirror, the figure standing before me was almost a 6’ tall high school senior with a rough, strong appearance. Scanning myself from head to toe revealed long scraggly blonde hair falling across my face, and penetrating blue eyes gleaming from out behind that long, unkempt mat. I had recently decided to start growing a beard and the unshaven stubble on my cheek gave a weathered look that amused me on several levels.
I turned the hot tap on the sink and let the water spew from the faucet briefly to warm up then leaned forward and splashed it onto my face and in my eyes to wake me up. For as much as I enjoyed my appearance, I really didn’t care how I appeared to others. If there was such a thing as a stylish hippie, I would be one. As the heated water seeped into my pores, my mind began to function and I froze into place.
~Something feels out of place. ~
I opened my eyes and attempted to distinguish my surrounding through the droplets falling from my eyelashes. Groping around, I found the closet handle behind me and slightly to the left.
Don’t be too alarmed, I tried to tell myself, the closet didn’t move over two feet. It’s like those times you wake up longways across your bed. When the first thing you look for as your eyes open is your door and you can’t find it, you freak out. It’s still there and you’re just in an unfamiliar position, but your mind automatically notices something amiss and you briefly panic, not recognizing your surroundings.
~I’m probably just disoriented.~
I managed to yank the wood panel open and, after smashing forehead and finger into every possible shelf, I wrapped my hands around a soft cotton towel. Finally wiping my face dry, I hesitantly glanced at the smooth marble counter and was immediately jolted awake.
It’s not that anything was out of place, but rather that nothing was out of place. It was perfectly clean.
~What the…~
Turning left and strolling down the hallway, retracing my steps back to the bedroom, I glanced along the surface of the walls. Completely bare.
~Well at least that’s the way it’s supposed to be.~
Upon reaching the bedroom I pushed open the door and took a step back, as if to check for booby traps. When I was sure the coast was clear, which it obviously was since I had woken up in there and made it out unscathed, I leaned forward and peered into the room before taking a few steps through the threshold.
~No…way… ~
I felt like a sledgehammer had just been thrust into my pancreas and my knees almost buckled. At that exact same moment I wanted to burst out laughing and was quite sure I had snapped mentally. This was my room, but not quite. All the furniture was approximately the same size as my furniture and arranged in the exact same manner. A blind man would have never known the difference; I didn’t even notice the difference when I woke up this morning. Just robotically maneuvering through my morning routine, the first thing that had alerted my to a change was the shape of the faucet taps. While my taps are somewhat akin to a fancy door handle, these were square glass knobs and sported a new texture I was unfamiliar with. Some of the things in the room were mine, I noticed as I scrutinized the area. For instance, the phone was mine, along with the shirt on the floor and the pants I was wearing. I feel like someone set me up on one of those Maximum Home Renovation shows or something.
~So where the fuck is Ty Bennington and why didn’t I get some ridiculous water slide from my bed to my shower or anything? What a lame makeover.~
As I circled the perimeter I decided it was far more plausible that I was in someone else’s house that just had a similar design to mine. Who knows, maybe we have the same contractor. Deciding to try out everything in this room out of pure curiosity, I lightly bounced on the edge of the mattress a bit as if to test it. It was soft yet firm and felt brand new. Looking around at the dark wood furniture and equally aphotic green sheets, I noticed a very definite theme.
~Shit, it looks like I just stumbled in on Peter Pan’s hideout. Even the walls are green. I wonder where the Lost Boys are.~
At this last thought I smiled inwardly and the nervous butterflies settled a bit. I probably just passed out at someone’s house last night and they let me crash there. Last night was a pretty crazy night after all….
~Oh…fuck…~
Thoughts of the previous night flashed through my mind. Dancing… hotels… driving… screaming… then white walls and shined silver linoleum floors. No… I couldn’t have been… ~there… ~
~Oh fuck…I think I’m going to be sick.~
~If~ I could even get sick. That’s a highly illogical idea of course; as long as I’m alive I’m just as able as anyone else to get sick, aren’t I?
~If I’m alive that is.~
~If~ I was alive. Perhaps that’s a rather shocking statement in and of it’s self. Even to say aloud to myself it sent chills down my spine. But everywhere I look, my shock is confirmed. This isn’t my mirror. That wasn’t my bed. This isn’t even my room.
~This doesn’t make sense. I think… I know I died. Last night… oh fuck… I can’t possibly be here right now. Wherever here is.~
I’ve never been diagnosed with Cotard’s Disease, where you feel as if you have died, but are very much alive. This was no walking corpse syndrome. I know I died, somehow. I mean, I saw heaven. I was there. It wasn’t a dream and now I’m here, lost in unfamiliar surroundings, accepting it as entirely natural.
~But Chase just called me. None of this fits.~
I raise an eyebrow at myself in the mirror as I discreetly discern the possible presence of a camera hidden behind the mirror, or should I say, “two-way glass”. This isn’t my house. For all I know, there could be millions of viewers watching me at all times. I debate this issue with myself for a moment, trying to shake off the temporary insanity.
At this point I decided to compromise my logic for the sake of sanity, and concluded that I am, in fact, on a reality show. This justification allowed me to assess the facts of the situation. Yes, I am dead. If I’m not dead then someone knocked me out, stripped me down, and dragged me to a new house rigged with video cameras. Actually, I paused for a second, the later seems more plausible.
~Except I saw Jesus’ eyes.~
Not exactly, but metaphorically it sticks.
I’m not a ghost. That one’s obvious (I pinched myself to make sure), and this is definitely not my house. Another plausible theory I’ve been batting around since I woke up, is that I’m a delusional ghost who haunts someone’s house; a house ignorantly built over my burial ground. There certainly have been enough movies that come to mind to support that claim. Dear god, I feel like a bad sequel of The Others. Please don’t let that be what my television show is about.
I’ll mull that theory over for awhile.
Maybe it’ll help me figure out how I got here.
~Hell, I’m still debating where here is. ~
It’s kinda difficult to solve when I’m not even sure where I was before here.
All I remember is…
~…her.~

* * *

“I’m so glad you finally decided to take me to prom, Nathan!” Madison cooed as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I’ve discovered that she has this way of talking that reminds me of being sick as a child. How my mother used to make the cough syrup not taste so bad by mixing it with a tablespoon of honey. This was a lot like that.
I winced.
“Of course,” I lied through my teeth, “It might be fun after all. Who knows?”
I knew. I hated dancing. Not so much dance in its essence, but I hated dancing in a room full of people I hardly know. I don’t even get to dance with who I want. It’s a massive courtship ritual where you cater to one girl all night, but I wasn’t about to lose Madison over my ridiculous distaste of modern teenage dancing, or the fact that I feel silly in a suit.
“Mmk. I love you. See you after class.”
She leaned up against me and stood on the tips of her toes to reach me for a quick kiss before class. She didn’t need to stand on he tip toes to kiss me; but she did it to get my attention. My mind was off stressing about the upcoming event this weekend. Looking down at her 5’ 8” stature I threw her the best smile I could muster at the moment.
“Love you too.” I replied.
It’s not that didn’t like the girl. Madison Cambridge was my first serious girlfriend that stuck with me through all the shit. Only, “sticking with me” involves crying and heart wrenching conversations over the phone nightly, on her part, not mine. She does a great deal to act like she cares, but sometimes I wonder if she really does. There are plenty of times she makes me feel like shit about myself until I feel so sick and helpless I want to end the relationship all together. Then the waterworks come and the constant pleas and stories of how much she loves me enter my eardrums; make me question if I’ll ever meet anyone else who supposedly cares about me this much.
People are contradictory.
She’s a rather attractive girl as well, I concluded as I studied her walking away from my locker. Deeply tanned to a dark bronze with cute freckles splattered across her soft, rounded cheeks, she was right at home in the sunny Florida climate. She didn’t have a perfect supermodel body, as I was well aware, and she was a touch on the chubby side, but one only became cognizant of that if they could pull their eyes away from her face long enough to take notice. I was always a sucker for a pretty face. She had deep chocolate eyes that seem to draw out her freckles, and sparkled every time she flashed her perfect smile. She had long dark hair the color of mahogany that seemed to flow like a stream from its origin, across her shoulders, and trickle across the curves of her breast or down her spine. There are few things I enjoy more then the feeling of her hair through my fingers, like silk. These few things are her equally smooth legs and her soft, full lips.
So I’m a little physically, and sexually, obsessed. What other eighteen year old boy isn’t? Despite that, even after a year of together, we haven’t had sex. Mostly because we lack any sort of trust in each other. I’ve cheated on her plenty of times, and I’m sure she has as well, even if she hasn’t told me. We’ve stopped seeing each other and the only time we interact is at school or on the phone. I know boys go over to her house, they tell me. We have our own reasons for staying together, her for moral support, and I stay with her for confidence. I know what it seems like, but I’ve never had a high self-esteem. It if ain’t broke don’t fix it right? Only it’s been broken so long we’re just too far gone to do anything about.
I work my way through the herd of freshman obstructing my walk toward 3rd period, and try to step sideways to minimize my resistance. Unlike most seniors I’m somewhat conscious of what it feels like to be a bullied freshman; therefore I do my best to make them feel equal to the rest of the student body. Things as minute as not shoving my way through small children while slamming them into walls goes a long way toward helping that.
Luckily I have a little leniency during this class period. Being the teacher’s assistant has a few perks, including being…
Tardy for the third time this week, Mr. Andrews.” Mr. Cedric finished for me. He was my favorite teacher and had a cool, collected presence that made everyone around him oddly at ease. He refused that anyone call him by his last name and had more then enough Hawaiian T-shirts to make anyone question if he was actually a teacher or just a lost tourist. I owed Mr. Cedric a lot. If I hadn’t met him I would most likely be flunking out of high school right now, regardless of my level of intelligence.
“Late again,” Chase sighed, dismayed, “dude that’s like… every day this week.”
“C’mon, I’ve only been absent three times this week!”
“It’s only Wednesday, Nate!” He admonished.
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I was talking to Madison”
Chase doesn’t really grasp my relationship with Madison. I don’t expect him to, seeing as no one else does. He finds it masochistic and ambivalent. I count down the seconds in my head until he reacts to the mention of her name 3…2…
“What is up with you guys? Might as well just end it already, right?”
Damn…well I didn’t count it exactly right, but close enough to be amusing, I suppose.
“C’mon man, it’s not that easy. This may be the best I ever get.” I whisper, half to him and half to myself for reassurance. This I know not to be true… sometimes that is. Other times I’m too scared to throw away my only lifeline.
People are contradictory.
Chase seemed to understand, he usually does, and strolled across the room to help a student learn about passive voice. He doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but he does somewhat understand what I’m feeling, even if he doesn’t agree with it. He’s got a good deal of empathy for someone who bases their life around structure and logic.
Walking across the room, I flung myself down into the office chair behind Mr. Cedric’s desk and spun around to view the notes displayed across the whiteboard. One way or another, for better or worse, tonight was going to be… something. I wasn’t sure what, but I knew I didn’t want to miss it. Maybe Madison and I would finally fix our problems, or I’ll meet someone better. It was going to be one of those decisive, defining moments. I could feel it.

* * *

As my knee slammed into the ottoman, I was jarred back to reality.
"Bastard misplaced furniture," I mumbled, fully annoyed that none of the furniture in this room was arranged how it’s supposed to be. The entire Fung Shui of the room was off.
Grabbing the key ring off the table that temporarily dislocated my knee; I walked toward the door and turned the latch.