Whoa, yesterday must have been one of the craziest things that I've ever done in my whole entire life.
I've never had the courage to actually chug down so much alcohol; I can literally feel my head screaming.
Hey, at least today is the weekend—I don't have to worry about heading to work. After all, I'm really not in the mood to start my new position in the state that I'm in right now. It's a miracle that I actually made it home.
But whoa, I knew and heard stories about having a hangover after a time like that, but I never thought or even considered that the whole me, Samon Salvatore, would actually be that irresponsible and do this.
Thinking about it really adds another layer of headache. I don't know what I'll tell my mother.
Damn! I can't believe I'm this wasted, but I have no choice—I have to get up, and I need to head home, or else my mother… she would really be disappointed in me, and I'm not one who likes to see her in that state.
Samon Salvatore was lying on the floor while busy talking to himself and thinking about the situation that he was caught in and the one he had put himself in. His eyes were half-opened, everything in the room looked so blurry, like everything was far away.
Snacks his teeth.
No use whining about it now. All I have to do is get my ass up from the floor, get myself clean—though I have no idea how I'm going to pull that off because I'm not only feeling like a mess, but I'm sure I look like one too.
Being half awake really didn't help or mean anything because of the current state that he found himself in, 'cause being half awake was a nice term that didn't want to be rude by saying he was half asleep—'cause he was, and Samon Salvatore knew that.
He was lying stomach-flat with his face turned and facing the good old door, yet in this state he couldn't make it out.
Samon Salvatore was trying to move around, but his limbs proved to be more stubborn than trying to chase out a warthog in a pigsty. He grunted, flinched, and groaned, but no matter what he did nothing changed—he was still lying on the floor.
Another thing was that his hands and arms were under his body, which made it clearer because of the cramp that they had.
Oh come on, so I'm really that drunk that my brain waves cannot send a message to my body?
Samon Salvatore was still stuck in one place, and by the looks of it, it seemed like he was not going to move anytime soon. He had to try something else, something fast too—not that there was anything wrong with him or anything like that, but he was just simply uncomfortable from lying like that.
Another thought came into mind, and he acted on it quicker than someone who felt like their life was on the line. Samon Salvatore flinched and flinched around, because all that he wanted to do was at least turn around and face the ceiling. Despite his body being numb and asleep, he had no choice.
Not that him doing so made any difference—instead all that he was able to do at that moment was crawl like a snake on his stomach.
Sht, so I won't be able to move at all? What kind of alcohol did I consume yesterday if it's making me this utterly useless?*
Hey, here's a thought—how about I try to use my hands to push myself around? Sure, I know they are really in a very tight spot, but at this moment it's the only way I can do something about it.
Samon Salvatore kept crawling around on his stomach—not that doing so was proving to be anything productive—but the space he was creating with each crawl enabled him to try and at least get his arms and hands out from under him. But that wasn't as easy as he thought it would be.
He crawled around in circles, and lucky for him, that was making things easier. All that he needed to do now was take out his arms and hands from beneath his body.
C'mon, that's it, we're almost out there! One last push.
Kyah!!!
Finally he was able to pull them free. His arms and hands were now outside, lying there flat and numb. Samon Salvatore was breathing heavily—more like heaving—because it looked like what he was doing drained the life out of him. He was trying to catch his breath. He might have been able to do such an impossible task, but he still had a tough job ahead.
What he needed to do was make sure that he could move his hands, allowing him to push himself so he could turn around at least, because he did think about pushing himself off the floor to get up, but his mind told him that might be too risky.
Okay, now that my hands are out, all I need to do is flex them—you know, like a person who is trying to regain feeling back in his nerves and hands.
Pshhh!
After this I'm definitely not going to let myself drink for about forever, 'cause I can't live like this, and if I don't rush back home soon, I can't even imagine what my mom would do to me.
Samon Salvatore flexed his hands maybe nine to ten times, right before he could actually feel them getting better and starting to regain sensation in both of them.
Uh-huh, that's it. Now let's try this out, and it better work or else I might sue some phony alcohol brand.
Samon Salvatore pushed himself. At first, all he looked like he was doing was some push-up—which felt a little different, because he did them with ease and with no trouble at all.
He managed to turn himself to face the ceiling, but the sight was still blurry. And that wasn't caused by the major headache where he felt like an untrained monkey was beating drums in his head.
The reason he was blind was because of the bright color light known as Halo, where he thought he saw the colors of the rainbow.
Gosh, darn it, who turned on the lights?
Samon Salvatore blocked the brightness by putting his hand in front of his eyes. To make sure he regained his normal sight back, he blinked a few more times, and tears streamed down his eyes until he got his sight back—he sensed it.
I think that's better. Now how about we try that again?
Samon Salvatore removed his hand, and the halo-bright light was indeed gone. All he saw was a strange light that he wasn't familiar with, and didn't believe still existed—not at least in his time—a bronze specimen chandelier that had a double-sided crystal faceting.
When is that chandelier from, 1965?
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was still lying down on the floor, but he wasn't as useless as before. Maybe the old chandelier woke something in him, because he was looking straight at it, staring as it swung around like it was about to get loose.
But the chandelier wasn't the only thing that seemed foreign and strange. The ceiling too—same as the chandelier—was also old, yet had that vintage appeal. It was a popcorn ceiling with yellow stains around it.
Okay, I think I have to ask this question… where the hell am I?
Samon Salvatore hadn't moved from the same spot since he turned to face up, but he really needed to move out of the way soon because one of the chandelier crystals was getting loose.
What?!
Whoa, that was close.
He moved out of the way in the nick of time as the loose crystal fell and broke into pieces. Samon Salvatore realized that he couldn't have himself lying and resting around—he had to make a move and get the hell out of there.
He got up and finally managed to stand. He looked around the place and found it completely different from where he was yesterday. He was in a room—a room that definitely fitted the description of the chandelier and the ceiling.
Okay, where the hell am I? Oh please don't tell me that I was that drunk that I crashed someone's bedroom.
Samon Salvatore looked around and all he saw was an old wooden study desk, brownish in color. On top of it were stacked old high school textbooks, the kind used in the 1970s—books still titled History, Geography, English, Mathematics, amongst many others.
And on the wall was nothing but old yellow papers pasted all over, forming some kind of circle—a big one in fact. Each paper was written with some sort of Latin letters, and in the center was a big symbol written in a crimson-red color. The symbol was a six-point painted Star of David; outside each point were Latin letters, and inside each of the six stars, a head of six different animals was drawn.
Deer, Crow, Cat, Owl, Snake, Lizard.
All of them were drawn in dark crimson red, and from the looks of it, the paint was still freshly wet—showing that this was painted not so long ago.
Even the Latin letters outside were written in black paint. Samon Salvatore didn't know what to do in that situation. From his own knowledge, a thing like this was often portrayed as something related to dark magic—and he was caught in the center of it all.
He stumbled back as he saw all this.
"Where the f*ck am I?" His voice was trembling.
On top of the study desk he had neglected to see the picture frame—an old black-and-white photograph of a family of four: a mother, two girls (one at least a teenager and the other maybe ten years old), and an older boy who looked seventeen or eighteen.
Even the frame was old, a vintage wooden rectangular frame.
What is this family into?
Samon Salvatore finally saw the picture, and it made him feel so disturbed—as if it was not just looking at him, but the family in that picture was smiling at him disturbingly.
After he met eyes with the boy in the picture, Samon Salvatore suddenly suffered a panic attack. He was struggling to catch his breath.
What the hell is happening to me?
Out of nowhere I just suffered a panic attack?
I haven't had this in years, not since my final exam in high school—so why now?
He also suddenly got a headache that made him feel like he was having some kind of flashbacks, remembering memories that he either shouldn't have remembered or had simply forgotten.
The room felt like it was pulling closer to him, getting smaller with each panic attack. His blurred eyesight returned and he was so drowsy that he stumbled around the room, bumping into everything there.
Samon Salvatore turned around, his panic attack worsening by the second. He was now really struggling to catch his breath—something was definitely wrong.
He stumbled backwards and bumped into something hard. He turned around to see what it was, but his vision had gotten worse. All he saw in a blur was a mirror, and someone was standing in front of it—and not only that, but there was something off about that person's chest.
"Wha—who are you?"
Samon Salvatore dropped to the floor and lost consciousness.