According to Marissa
Chapter Two: Part One
"Marissa."
The voice was soft and muffled.
David groaned. He tried to figure out why the voice sounded so unfamiliar, but he was unsuccessful. His sleep was too deep, too soft, too—he scrunched his nose. Then, he turned over and tugged the ruffled comfy covers over his shoulders. They were slipping a little. He didn't like it. Still, he liked the feel of them, the covers. He couldn't remember when they were ever this smooth, this cool, this—He didn't mind this change. In fact, David quite enjoyed it. He smiled and grumbled softly, happily, drowsily.
"Marissa!"
He mumbled slowly. Again, he scrunched his nose. He didn't recognize the name and yet he wasn't perturbed. David sighed and snuggled.
By habit and instinct, David knew that the sun's absence meant that it hadn't risen. He knew that the sun's absence meant that he wasn't overly tardy. And the sun's absence meant that he could easily indulge in the slumber that continued to cloak and lovingly plague him. Still, David sighed, by habit and crafted instinct, he knew that dawn was fast approaching. The sun would rise regardless of his wants and needs, regardless of his sloth and slumber, regardless of comfort's seductive embrace. Accepting defeat, the boy relaxed his nose, wiggled his toes and habitually reached for his harp. He frowned when he couldn't find it. "I was playing it," he groggily remembered. "Yes, I was playing it and thinking about what happened yesterday." His thoughts stuttered for a moment at the memory. Once again, its resulting worry weighed heavily on his mind, dragging it down, pulling it down like a small weight a balloon. King, he thought. He opened his eyes. One day, I'm going to be king.
"Marissa, if you don't get up right now, I'll leave without you. Do you want breakfast or not?" The voice, harsh in its anger, jostled his thoughts. The look of his surroundings, which were not his normal surroundings, quickened his heart. David started. He panicked. He quickly, yet cautiously tore out of the bed tripping over the book that fell clumsily to his feet. He took in the bed's Ratman blankets, posterless frame and frowned. He looked and saw the big blue rug beneath his feet, the large bookcase behind him, the small window, the closet, the pictures and finally the small angel night light tucked secretly in the far corner. He was moving to touch it (just touch, nothing else too obtrusive) when the only door out of the room snapped violently open.
The woman behind it was mad—cross really. In one fell swoop, she took in the book on the floor and the girl tiptoeing toward the book shelf. Her face visibly reddened. "I'm very happy," she said carefully, slowly, frigidly, "that I have a daughter who is as obsessed with reading as much as you are. In fact, I'm delighted, but as I've repeatedly reminded you, doing so right before school is not the appropriate time." Tersely, she pointed to the closet, her chocolate eyes sparking and her chocolate curls bouncing and her slender frame tap, tap, tapping a hasty rhythm with her chocolate slippered foot. The image made the shepherd boy wince.
David swallowed and sped to the sliding doors with much confusion. He wasn't sure what lay behind them and in his haste, he couldn't figure out how to open them enough to find out. He stammered. He—
Recognizing the look, the mysterious woman growled and marched staunchly to where he was standing. She snapped the doors open with a quick movement and tossed him a shirt with the Ratman symbol screened messily upon it. A pair of well patched jeans, some socks and underwear followed suit, pilfered from the dark dresser tucked neatly within the tiny room. Then, she grabbed David by the arm and pushed him down the hall to the bathroom "Please," she said finally. "Please, just take a shower and get dressed. You are going to school today."
With that, she left. David stood there blinking. He was partly embarrassed, partly unnerved. It took him sometime to figure out the bathroom fixtures, but not long enough to be a nuisance. He was ready in under 30 minutes and in her car less than five. Yet, 30 minutes was not long enough. It was too fast for him to take in anything other than the fact that she was staring at him, puzzling over him the entire time. Figuring this was a dream (a most strange one at that) he took it for granted, just like her continued silence.
In quiet acceptance, David followed the dream's leading. He got to school. He was happily ushered into his sixth grade class and socialized with many of the kids who were roughly his same age. With their guidance, he learned spelling, geography and math, history and a bit of science. It wasn't until gym class that he felt something was off. He felt hunger, which was odd. He never remembered feeling hungry in a dream before. Still, he ignored it.
At lunch, he ate the food the lady from before had given him, a baloney sandwich, carrots and one tiny green and red juice box made of poignant fruit called apples. The food was strange yet satisfying. He hated the baloney, but he liked the carrots and squeezing the juice out of the juice box. That he most certainly liked. The squeezing was fun and the tart smell was pleasant. It reminded him of his bed and the candles lit about it. It reminded him of home.
It was at recess, moments after, that David knew something was certainly not right. The moment's name was Ashton Abigail Appleton.
- Calla