Adolescent Angst and the Marie Celeste | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Adolescent Angst and the Marie Celeste | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gregory Kane
11/02/14
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I open one eye and immediately regret it. The light pouring in through the gap in the curtains sneers at my pained expression. You might not know or care who Levator was, but his muscle can drag an eyelid sixteen millimetres from darkness into light. Unfortunately there's so much dust, mucus and general debris littering my sleep-encrusted eyeball that Levator hasn't got a hope. I can feel him calling on Muller and Frontalis to lend a hand (or more accurately a tarsal tug), but ain't nothing shifting. Looks like I'll be doing another Polyphemus parody until such time as I can summon a digit from the dank netherworld beneath my blankets to dislodge the crud.

A foot emerges and stretches ominously in the direction of the floor. I assume that it belongs to me; it's certainly hairy enough. Only I can't quite fathom why any of my appendages should be in a hurry to embrace the morning. Befuddled, I signal for a full tactical retreat but my synapses must be misfiring, because the next thing I know a disembodied arm has pitched my blankets to the foot of the bed. Horizontal perspective shifts through ninety degrees and then my other foot hits the ground. The crunch that follows suggests that I have located the Digestive biscuit that went absent without leave two nights before. How it ended up underneath a trigonometry textbook and buried below three socks and a Batman t-shirt lies beyond my cognitive function at the present time. But it's good to know where it's been hiding. I might be feeling peckish later on.

At some point my hearing kicks in. Or more accurately, the lack thereof. Saturday mornings are normally punctuated by the beep, whirr, zap and boom of my brother on his Nintendo, followed by howls of protest as he fails to vanquish some multi-taloned Boss. Yet our house is deathly silent. Not a single slammed door. No one hollering that it's past time to be getting out of bed. Not even the ding of the microwave announcing that porridge is ready. Slightly perplexed, I squint one-eyed in the direction of my digital clock-radio. Daylight saving ended the week before and I still haven't got around to resetting the time. For the life of me, I can't work out whether it's meant to be one hour earlier or one hour later, but either way the house ought to bustling with activity. All decidedly odd.

I'm not entirely sure how I end up downstairs. What I do know is that my pyjama top is on back to front, my pyjama bottoms don't match the top half, and my bedroom slippers are bright pink and belong to my mother. Thankfully, albeit peculiarly, no one is present to witness my fashion faux pas. It's at moments like this that one's brain takes on a life of its own. In all seriousness, I open the fridge to see if any of my brothers are hiding inside. I even–and this makes no sense at all–look inside the microwave!

And then it dawns on me. Have I missed the Rapture? Could one seriously sleep through such a cataclysmic event? I appreciate I am a teenager and sleep is fundamentally important, but even so. Or have I, somehow, been left behind? [cue menacing ringtone.] Feeling ever so slightly panicked, I run through a mental check-list of my spiritual credits and debits. Nope, nothing all that significant. I mean like, I take this faith business seriously: I've been baptised; I play drums in the church band; I even read my Bible regularly, and that's downright impressive for any adolescent. I honestly can't think of anything might have eliminated me from the epic end-times round-up.

Booting up the family computer, I decide to check Facebook and see if any of my friends have mislaid their nearest and dearest. That's when I see it, lying on top of the keyboard.

"Son, we have taken your brothers hill-walking. Home early afternoon. Hope you are up by then. Love, Mum."

Three hours later, my parents and brothers roll in to find me still glued to the computer. Although I make a point of not showing it, I am actually kind of glad to see them. Unfortunately, it is just as they gather round to greet me that I remember I am still wearing Mum's pink, fluffy slippers...

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