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TrappedChapter 1~the awakening~I felt the gentle brush of sunlight run across my face as the memory of twilight faded into thecoming dawn. I tussled in my cozy sheets and ran my head against the soft pillow. I did not want towake up, it was just too much to deal with. I wasn't tired, I was trapped. I thought it was a dream, ahorrible nightmare that I would wake up from any time. I kept telling myself that if I just closed myeyes that when I opened them this would all be gone but it wasn't that easy. It had already been threedays since this hell started and I hoped it would have all been over by now. At first I thought it was adream, one of those lucid experiences when you realize that you are dreaming and almost immediatelywake up. The only major difference -I wasn't waking up.Wasn't snapping out of it, panting in a cold sweat. I used to get night terrors when I was in high school but those were nothing compared to what I am experiencing now. At least in a night terror was over when I opened my eyes. This was something else, far far worse.The first night was horrible, woke screaming frantically until my parents rushed into the roomwondering if I was alright. They assured me that it had been just a nightmare, that I should try to forgetabout it, and rest. I hardly considered my situation to be a simple nightmare but no one was going to believe me anyway. Maybe if I did go back to sleep when I woke up everything would be back tonormal this time when I opened my eyes. No matter how many times I tried, closing my eyes, going back to sleep, nothing was changing, I was still in my big blue house, in my quiet little town in WestVirginia. For two straight days I did nothing but lie in bed, waiting for something, anything to happen.My parents and sister, well not so much my sister, started to wonder if I was sick, after all it was notnatural for a boy my age to stay in bed all weekend, especially when we were having such niceweather.I was still hoping this would have all been a bad dream when I opened my eyes but I wasn't thatlucky. I slowly cracked my eyes open, maybe if I squinted enough it would look like my room wassupposed to look. I was supposed to see a large wooden dresser about 10 feet from me against the wall.It was supposed to be a very nice hand crafted piece with a nice floral arrangement cut into the topcorners. My parents had bought it for me as part of a set when I was fifteen. My room was supposed tostretch another twenty or so feet from the bottom of my bed where I had placed the other part of thisdresser combo against the adjacent wall and a half length mirror was to be resting ever so lightly on topof it. My room should have had a nice sized walk in closet just to the left of the dresser and the entireroom was painted white with the bottom quarter a nice blue to match the comforters. It was a simple bedroom, but it was mine.As I opened my eyes further, to their full view, my heart sank yet again. I was not in my room, Iwas still trapped in this hell that used to be it. Small closet, small dresser, small everything, perfect for a boy my age. The nice white and vibrant blue I had become accustomed to was replaced by a paledepressing shade of bluish-green. Just looking at it made me sick. The three large windows that facedthe front of the house adorned one whole side of my room. I think the house was designed that way tomake sure whoever got
that 
room never got to sleep much past sunrise. It was a slight irritation that Ido not know how I lived with back then but compared to waking up to being a ten year old still havingthe memories of the last eleven years it was something I could deal with.“Alex, wake up.”My mothers voice echoed up the stairs, where it ever so faintly entered my room and jostled mefrom my thoughts telling me that it was time to get up. The second time she called my it was not so
 
much a gentle nudge as it was a raging earthquake assuring me that if I did not get up something far worse would make sure I did upon the third “request.” I groggily threw my heavy warm covers off of me to the foot of my bed and they landed in a disheveled pile. I already knew I was going to be lecturedfor not making my bed but my my current situation dictated that I did not care. I was uncontrollablytumbling between fear, anger, depression, and mostly confusion. My only question though was “why?”Was this some cruel karma related joke? Was I here to do something important? Once again, mymothers insistence on me coming down for breakfast before school snapped me out of my zoned out,dazed state.I don't even even remember getting dressed, nor coming down the stairs. My reality snapped back into focus when I got to the last stair and stepped off of the fuzzy peach carpeting that coated the stairsand the entire second floor onto the hardwood floor of the foyer. My foot hit the hard floors andinstantly shot forward. My legs flew out from under me and landed with a thud.My mother gasped as my sister laughed hysterically. I had apparently forgotten that we had just had thefloor waxed but in my defense, my memory of what had happened of the past several daysunderstandably different from theirs.“You okay there sport?” My father asked fighting to hold back his laughter.“Fine” I said in a snappy tone pulling myself to my feet. I think I was slightly more irritated that hewas calling me “sport” again. I hated that name and it took me forever to get him to stop calling methat. So you can only imagine the joy I felt of getting to hear that nickname for the next several years.I brushed myself off and took my place at our breakfast nook. The kitchen was exactly as Iremembered. Oak cabinets ran all along the walls of the kitchen. I believe that at this time the breakfastnook was relatively new. We had pushed out the back wall of our kitchen to make more room. Itsuccessfully got rid of our back porch but my mom really liked having the extra room in the kitchenwhere she could “play.” The refrigerator was in the southern corner of the kitchen with the stove beingright next to it with a little bit of counter space between them for the toaster and microwave. Past therefrigerator, the kitchen looped around and connected with the dinning room. The dining room wasfairly bland, a big table for dinner a china cabinet and a piano, not much else. I remember my parentsselling that piano before we moved, my sister cried for hours about it, she loved that piano. She wouldalways play it before dinner just to show us how much she improved, granted she always played “Maryhad a little lamb,” but that really wasn't the point, she played for the joy of playing. If only she would believe they end up buying her a new piano when she gets engaged to her long standing boyfriend --butno. Why would she ever believe something like that? Boys are still yucky at this point in her life.Everything was just too surreal, my mind kept wondering to memories that I had of this place.Memories that should have been relatively recent but seemed so distant to me, like a small light and theend of a long tunnel and I was reaching to retrieve them. Once again I was brought back to my senseswhen the light fluffy smell of fresh pancakes wafted in my direction. They smelled so good, light andairy with a hint of butter melting on the soft cakey top. My stomach growled as my mom brought breakfast over to me.I was too out of my senses to realize that my dad had begun to flood my plate with syrup, drowningthe warm pastry in thick, sticky essence of caramelized sugar.“What are you doing!?” I yelled“Whats the matter sport?” he replied “ I thought this is how you liked your pancakes!”“It is how I
used 
to like my pancakes. I'm diabetic remember? That much sugar would kill me! Imean if you are going to do that, wouldn't it just be easier to put a pillow over my face until I stop
 
kicking?”“What are you talking about, Alex?” my mom replied shockingly “Your not a diabetic, where didyou get an idea like that?”“ Don't you remember?” I shouted “Just last year I was diagnosed with...”Then it hit me, I hadn't been diagnosed with it yet. That wouldn't happen until I was twenty yearsold.“Never mind.” I sighed, “I guess it was just another bad dream, and don't call me sport.”“You got it sport.”I could already tell this was going to be hard. As I started my trek down the ally near my house toget to my school, a million thoughts raced through my mind. Things like: What was I going to do? Howcould I connect to my friends I had not seen in ten years? What would happen if I talked about theadvances in technology still to be made? What about all the bad things I knew were bound to happen, if I tried to change those, I might end up horribly and irreversibly changing things. I guess my only optionI had was to cross those bridges when I came to them. As for now, the big scary bridge staring me rightin my face was being back in third grade...again.Chapter 2~back to school~It was very odd and almost calming being back in my quiet little town. My neighborhood was agroup of six blocks, two on each street and extending three streets back behind my house. Betweeneach of the three blocks there was an ally-way, not the creepy kind of ally, everyone who lived here hada detached garage so the ally is how everyone got to them. We played there a lot as it had the besthiding spots when we played games that required them.The school was at the end of the second black and stretched past the third one a bit until itreached the church area. If we walked all the way down to the end of the neighborhood past the church,there was a small hill we could walk up that had a mini strip mall with a pizza parlor and a movietheater. So it was nice, as kids we could really walk anywhere and not have a parents worry too muchas we were most likely at a movie or getting some pizza. Granted having my cell again would havemade this whole process a lot easier, but that was still a good six years away.However if we walked in the other direction away from the school, we got the giant hill that wecleverly called “The Hill.” being younger kids our creativity was slightly on the lacking side. The lack of an inspiring name didn't change just how much fun this place was though, It was perfect for sleddingwhen the weather got cold. It was tall and did not face any streets so we could send ourselves careeningdown the hill with little worry of getting plowed into by a car. Plowing into each other was a slightly bigger problem.I walked slowly down the alley that lead to my school. Every excruciatingly calculated step I took  brought me that much closer to everything that I feared. The reality that I would have to live all of thisover again.“Hurry up or you will make us late!” My sister yelled back at me. All of my meandering andwondering had caused me to fall behind. She always did have a fast pace, which just got faster as shegot older. Besides we weren't really going to be late, she just had this urge to always be early just incase she might miss something “important.”
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