A voice in my ear. A warm body pressed against mine. "Please. I don't know what to do anymore." A hand, dragging me away from the party -into the house -upstairs- through a door- onto a bed- then-

Late Night Final, chapter one:

Overture

I get out of bed, moving without paying attention to how I'm moving. A single phrase repeats in my mind, over, and over, and over again: 'I don't know what to do anymore'. "Damn." My head feels like it's been split open. Muttering to myself about nothing much, I stroll down the stairs to the broadcast room.

Inside, I put on my headphones, close the door and pull the latches at the top and bottom. It's eight a.m. The perfect time to read something onto the air. I set everything up and turn on the mic.

"Hello. Ladies, gentlemen, and... esteemed others, we have something really special in store today. It's the Late Night Final's Dramatic Readings! On today's session, we have something I think you'll all love: Trial Twelve, by award-winning author Alex Yeates.

I start reading:

I wake up in the sky.

My name is Will Grant, I'm sixteen, and I don't know where I'm going.

-o0o-

When I finish the first part of the book, it's almost twelve, so I put on an old recording of me reading 2001, and go to eat something.

I return at twelve-thirty having eaten a bagel, and come back onto the air: "Listeners, I have returned to give you live music. It's... Lords of Works in Progress, live in session for Late Night Final! Comprised of two members, they cannot be described. Seriously, you have got to listen to them."

And they play. It's fantastic, but somehow reminds me of-

No.

I'm not going to get into that again. I need to focus on the show.

And I do. The live music continues, with Hat Sam and Night Night thrown into the mix.

-o0o-

I can't forget it. Hot breath on my ear, coaxing me away from the party, distracting, hands on mine, on my chest on my-

NO!

God! Why is this memory alone taking me over! I turn off the music and tell the mic that the regular programming will be interrupted, then go upstairs to the attic where I normally live and recreate and shit, and-

-o0o-

Sorry about that. I return to the broadcast room, and put on a recording of Dune, and leave. I stay in the attic and read for a bit.

"Fuck," I whisper, and put on another pair of headphones, and play Heel Turn 2 by the Mountain Goats.

"I don't want to die in here," I sing, for anyone who wants to hear to do so. "I don't want to die in here." The playlist continues. The Kingdom of the Universe

I keep listening.

-o0o-

Note: All lyrics belong to The Mountain Goats and Ashley Park. 2001 belongs to Arthur C. Clarke. Dune belongs to Frank Herbert. If you read this, I love you. Please read this and more of it in the future.