Before You Sleep || Cake (boyxboy) EDITING

•Eight• {The Ghost Of You}

[My friend and I's conversation on Larry_Lashton's Around The Block ^ yes her contact name is Soulless Ginger]

After the ride home from school I stumbled out of the car and in the house before slumping upstairs to my room, where I face planted on my bed and screamed in my pillow.

In my book, it was quite possibly the worst day of school in my life. Most of the other moves weren't as hard as this one, and it felt like everything I was doing was wrong.

I laid face down on my pillow for god knows how long, half suffocating myself in the fluffy cotton pillowcase. When I glanced over at my clock it was only five thirty. I sighed and flicked on the television. I figured I might as well continue binge watching Netflix for a few hours.

I was scrolling through the categories looking for my favorite childish cartoon shows (that I wouldn't admit to watching around anyone), when the screen started to frequently freeze. I did the only logical thing to do in a situation like this; I smacked the remote on my bed for a few minutes until I figured I'd fixed whatever problem was going on. Surprisingly enough it actually worked for a few minutes until it started freezing and flickering and the occasional static appeared in the screen.

I still had all the fans in my room at that point, most of them were off except for a few which were keeping my room cool. The strange rustling sounds, which I had finally decided was wind traveling trough the rafters, started up again after a few nights of silence.

I didn't remember selecting any shows on the television, but pretty soon a loud siren-like wail erupted from the sound systems and static flashed on the screen. A distorted image flickered off and on, too fast for me to make out completely. All I could see was a figure standing in the center of a room. I waited for the next possible time and paused the television. A man in a ack hood was standing the the middle of a room that strangely looked a lot like my own. In front of him was a chair with a slumped figure seated awkwardly with its head lulled to the side and its arms behind its back. Only then did I realise that the figure in the chair was a boy no older than fifteen, tied to a chair, beaten, bloody and knocked out. I hesitantly pressed the slow motion button and watched in horror as the man raised a bloody knife from behind his back and stabbed the boy directly in the throat.

I screamed in terror and immediately turned off the tv. I obviously needed some sleep. I checked my clock again and saw that only a half am hour had passed. I decided against going for a walk in the woods, nearing dark, in a place I didn't know, and instead flopped down on my bed with a huff. I still had a lo of boxes to unpack and find a place for.

I stalked over to where a smaller box was placed and ripped the top open. I smiled when seeing my art supplies were in this box, grabbing the things from the box. Inside was my countless piles of sketchbooks, paints, brushes, pencils, pastels, charcoals, you name it, I probably had it in that box.

I picked up one of my best pencils and flipped to a fresh sheet in one of my notebooks, frowning at the writing already in the book that I was sure I never wrote.

My name is Luke. It read on one page.

And I need your help, Calum. It said on the other.