Disclaimer: Same as the first.
Rating: PG – quite tame. Mention blood.
Author's note: I've finished the story. There's no nooky. Sorry. But there is a nice heart-eating bit…oh, wait, different story :-)
"Did gyre and gimble in the wabe"
*If this isn't wabe, I don't know what is.
As I sat there pondering the insanity of my own brain, a brilliant plan of escape came to mind. I would just sit here until somebody found me, patiently, calmly, without any hint of panic. Someone was bound to walk in, right? I mean, just because I lived alone, and had very few close friends, and didn't know any of the neighbors, had no significant other, not to mention I heard the lock click behind the agent, that didn't mean that someone wouldn't accidentally pick my lock and fall inside and find me, right? I mean, the chances of that weren't too slim, they were at least a good million to one! Someone would find me, they would! They would! Oh, god, help me! Help! HELP!
Fortunately, at this point, I decided to lose my mind completely, and I started shrieking. When that didn't prove fruitful, I started hopping up and down in my chair, madly trying to wriggle out of the knots that I swear were superglued together.
So much for always keeping a level head in a dire situation!
As I was vigorously banging the chair around and screeching like a banshee, I forgot the location one important thing: my center of gravity. And down I fell, onto the cold, hard, wooden floors, my arms still tied behind my back. I really wouldn't have noticed through my own panic, except for it still smelled exceptionally like hardwood stain. Yum.
And that was the time at which the agent decided to reappear in my bedroom as if cued. He looked down at me, lying on the floor, still tied to the chair, arms behind my back, blood all around me, with one leg through a rung of the chair. I couldn't move more than a sporadic wriggle, like a decapitated mutant worm tied to a chair, but I tried. He lost it then. He threw back his head, collapsed to my bedroom floor, and laughed until tears streamed down his face.
I was not laughing with him.
I admit I was smiling, for I could see that I looked like a complete idiot, but one must remember that it was me who was looking like the abstract garbage sculpture, not him. And that made it much more difficult to laugh at.