My Beautifully Obnoxious Alarm

This is a short story about a girl who finds herself taken hostage by someone or something and is desperate to cling on to the only memories she has left of her old life.

My overpoweringly loud alarm jolts me awake every morning at six o'clock, which has not changed since the day I started Kindergarten. Today is my 15th birthday. I should be sleeping in, only to be woken by my parents serving me my favorite breakfast: chocolate chip pancakes with strawberry jam. But as I lie awake on my damp, musty-smelling cot, reality sneaks in like an unwanted guest. I never imagined I would someday deeply cherish waking up to that obnoxious, screeching 6 am wake-up-call my alarm clock provides. That once dreaded morning sound is the only thing I have that remotely resembles the amazing life I once lived.
Today is Friday, I think. Fridays I am allowed a trip to the library. At least, that is what they call it. It isn't a library at all. It is a room packed with messy piles of old newspapers, magazines, and books. Half of which are barely legible due to water damage and rips and tears. More often than not, there aren't any pieces to choose from that are in English. When this happens, I try to find something with pictures, so at least I can make up my own story in my head. I can usually keep myself busy for hours doing this. Hours seem like days, though, and days are so long it's as if they have no end. The only real proof I have that it is a new day is my beautiful, obnoxious alarm that I so desperately look forward to hearing every morning.
I glance over at the clock, and it reads 6:15 am. In a panic, I jump up, quickly fold my blanket and set it neatly on top of my lumpy pillow. If I want to go to the library, I need to be standing straight with feet together facing forward by 6:19 on the dot " stupid rule " but if I am not at my mark at this specific time, I forfeit my trip to the library. I missed library time once. It was pure hell. Imagine being all alone in a dark place. There’s no one to talk to or laugh with; it is nothing short of indefinite lonliness. I have come to realize, without something to occupy my thoughts and mind, my mental state declines rapidly. The unknown gives me severe anxiety, always has and always will. Considering that the unknowns outweigh the knowns in my present situation, my anxiety level is already off the charts. I will never again risk forfeiting my library time because it is what keeps me sane.
As I stand and wait, I try to strain my eyes to see as far over into my peripheral vision as possible. It is still dark, so I see nothing. My heart is racing, making breathing difficult. I attempt to slow down my breathing for fear I may develop a full-on panic attack. Just as I start to get my breathing under control, I feel a rush of cold air, and I know it is them.
There are no doors opening or closing. There are no footsteps to be heard. They give no warning of sound and little of sight when entering an area. The rigid drop in temperature that seems to emit from their short, thin, gangly bodies is my only confirmation of their presence. The temperature continues to drop as the space between us decreases. I feel as though I am in a meat locker it is so cold. As I am shivering uncontrollably, an overwhelming thought pops into my head saying, “Relax your muscles and your mind. We are not here to harm you. We are here to save you.” To say it is an eerie feeling is an exaggerated understatement. These things are using mind control to communicate with me. The worst part is, I can’t get them to tell me what is going on. Are they protecting me from someone or something? Was I in danger? Am I in danger now? Where are my parents? Where is everyone else? Am I the only survivor? If so, a survivor of what? So many questions, and not a single one they would answer.
I can feel tears start to brim my eyes in frustration. Six months I have been here. Six months I have been waiting and wondering what is going on. Endless nights of crying myself to sleep and still there is no end in perfecting my punctuality to obtain library visits in sight. And for what? I feel like a prisoner, not someone they have saved or are protecting.
I am in a cold, wet, cemented, cubicle-type area. Many cubicles surround mine, but I have never noticed another living soul besides myself and whatever these things are. Another overpowering and unwelcomed thought magically enters my mind, “You are safe. We will protect you. There is no need to be afraid.” Somehow, every time those words forcefully penetrate my thoughts, I feel as though my world is collapsing around me. How do they expect anyone not to be afraid? Of course I am afraid! One minute I am at home with my family, living the good life. And the next I am in a cold, dark, damp, stinky place with no idea how I got here or why any of this is happening. Six months later, confusion and uncertainty have seeped into every pore of my being. I feel like a little girl who is all alone and extremely confused, crying for her mommy; not like a just-turned-15-year-old young woman should be feeling.
I close my eyes and tilt my head downward as another tear falls slowly down my cheek. They hover in front of me, and I know that is my cue to follow. As I walk down the long, empty hallway, I feel a spurt of dizziness followed by a brief moment of light-headedness. I have become aware that this feeling occurrs as my body is apparated through a wall into the so-called library.
Every day here is the same. Except for Friday. To be completely honest, it might not even be Friday. That is just what they tell me. One thing I do know for certain, however, is that today is my birthday. And although I have no one to celebrate with, I allow my brain to flood with happy memories of previous birthdays with my family. I find myself wondering if they have planted these memories, as they are the only ones I have had besides the memories and happy feelings my alarm clock brings every morning. I quickly remember I need to search this sad excuse for a library for reading material. I stash the memories aside for later and start my quest. Wondering what would suffice my need for brain stimulation, I slowly walk towards a short, eratically piled stack of dictionaries. “They’re in English!” I scream to myself in excitement. As quickly as my smile appeared, it also vanished. It’s my birthday, and all I want to do is be home with family.
One year ago today, I woke up to an extremely annoying alarm. I cannot believe where I have ended up. As I sit rummaging through the pieces of unkept papers for even more material that would occupy my time for as long as possible, I find myself wishing it was time to sleep again. Sadness engulfs my entire being. It’s as if my unconscious is reaching out to touch the only remembrance of the life I used to have. No matter what happens in this new life, or where these “things” take me, I will forever anxiously anticipate the beautifully obnoxious sound my alarm gives, which I so deeply wish woke me up to my old life again.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Alien abduction sure doesn't sound like much fun. I think you've captured well what that experience would be like. The girl hanging onto the one familiar thing in her life, the annoying alarm, is realistic, I'm sure. (I had similar feelings about small possessions when at sea for long periods of time)
A bit of constructive criticism: I think this sentence could be worded better--"Many cubicles surround mine, but I have never noticed another living soul besides myself and whatever these things are." It's all good except for the last part. Consider changing it to something like this--"... besides myself and my captors, whatever they may be."

[Kelli April]

Excellent!! Sounds so much better! Thank you!