Hallmarked Fantasies by Loh Page A

recoiling from suddenly
being bathed by blinding light, I hurried myself towards the window
near the bed as my eyes continued adjusting to the unnatural light
around me. I closed the two doors on the window and secured in a
surprisingly firm manner and plopped down on my bedside.
     
    I swear for the life of me that I was
elegantly thinking of a sunset all but moments ago… Letting out a
sigh was the only retort possible at the moment. Opening my phone
that had been in my grip throughout this entire scene I had gotten
a pop-up alert saying that my cloud storage was full and couldn’t
be backed up which was simply dismissed.
     
    “ Almost 2 o’clock huh?”
     
    I just sat there under a myriad of thoughts of
my own until one thought seemed to stand out more than the
rest.
     
    Mosquitos.
     
    It’s two in the morning and the window was
just closed— there must be at least one mosquito with the taste for
blood that wandered in here, right? That was the first conclusion I
jump to but I still forced myself up as I stalked around my room
and shook anything remotely black in color in an attempt to draw
out any mosquito, although to know avail. Scanning through the
surface of the compact pinewood desk placed in front of the bed, an
empty glass cup triggered a sudden quench as I acknowledge my
throat was dry and in considerable pain.
     
    Forget about mosquito bites, a glass of water
and good nights sleep, at least what’s left of it, would be the
best course of action. In truth, I was just getting sick of looking
at every detail of my room considering I’ve been doing just that
for the last sixteen years; the resolve to get water and sleep was
simply me pandering to myself expecting tomorrow to come hold my
hand with a smile.
     
    Quietly pacing
myself outside my room and through the narrow hallway, I reflected
on what had just happened almost subconsciously. I had gotten
intimate with those recordings again; ever since an innocent me
from back when decided to keep a journal (not a diary) for myself
through recording my voice. I still keep consistent with it today,
and to think that this all resulted from some playful suggestion by
a teacher who believed in being able to see oneself develop through
life by keeping tabs was exhilarating. Nowadays, all I’ve been able
to achieve with it is incessant ramblings of random fairytales; honestly, I
should gamble on studying scenario writing or become a novelist if
I enjoy sitting on my butt for a large part of the day screaming
into an abyss and recording the interaction for no one to
hear.
     
    It’s all superficial when someone realizes
that its just me being useless to society by talking to myself by
crafting mediocre plots for stories. I may be somewhat well versed
in linguistics due to a mixture of class placement and these
recording, and I’ll also give myself points for being self-aware of
this stuff but they immediately get taken off by the fact that I
enjoy what I’m doing.
     
    Reaching the silent and void kitchen I was
able to at least find the handle to the fridge and take out the jug
of water from inside it. Judging by the fact that the jug was
really not all that cold, dad must have boiled some tap water right
before heading off to bed. I silently thank him and mom for
replenishing the jug and regret the fact that I don’t interact with
them as much as I would like to considering that they come home
late if not at all since they both travel abroad for business trips
at varying times from each other or rarely even together. After
indulging myself in the satisfying sounds of fresh water being
poured into a cup of ice, I make my way to the stairs, albeit in a
much slower pace as if not to spill any water from the brim of the
cup.
     
    Navigating myself through the heaven that is
pitch black darkness, I try my damnedest to pass the time by
describing this large house but no matter what I say to myself,
some divine force within me is saying that the house itself is