Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Chapter ten.

The next morning, I feel dizzy. I got to learn that the tea wasn't just surprising sweet, but also some kind of sleeping medicine.

As my legs take me to the bathroom, my forelimbs dangles like a walkers. I feel like a dead man, my legs and brain the most activated part of me.

In the bathroom, I gaze into the mirror in front of me, letting my own reflection be the judge of me. My hair is all spiky, and poking out from the center of my head. My eyes are swollen, and its balls reddened. I barely even feel the numb sensation in my wrist until mistakenly, I hit it against the frame of the faucet when I want to open it. I wince, just for a moment, my brain comes back fully awoke.

After brushing, I force myself to take a shower, all while, making sure that my wrist is anything pain-causing repellent. Once done, I turn off the water and go back to the bedroom with a yellow towel of mine around my waist. Don't let me even start with how stressful, and tiresome it was to wrap the towel around my very waist just with one hand.

I manage with the same hand to do all I have to do. I don't like today already, and I blame yesterday for it. Standing in front of the mirror, I check my dressing. The green knit-made jacket brightens the colour of my skin. My hair is done as fine as I could, but though, the floppy part that was supposed to come down to my forehead did came down without much effort. On my hind limp is a black trouser.

Done, I pace down the stairs, motioning to the dining table. James is the first person I meet on getting there.

He is hurried to stand, and walk over to me, his face concerned. "Are you okay?" He must have noticed the stress look I have all over my face. The tea did a number on me.

"I don't even know. I feel so tired." I tell him my mind, the truth. I don't know how I feel. I feel dead, and alive at the same time. It's the tea's fault, I assume.

"Next time, I guess you won't support Uncle that much, but me."

Hehe, see who's talking? My subconscious is mocking, rolling his head to the back so he can laugh out his stomach into the air.

He wants me to support him more than I do to his Uncle. He must be kidding me. He didn't sound kidding. My mind just has to tell me that not-so-good truth.

"Well, it wasn't his fault. And how do I know that it wasn't even the fault of the tea, but you." I tell him, riddling my reply.

His brows comes together. He is confused.

"I don't understand." Right after he says, Mr. West comes out from the kitchen with a silver tray in both his hands. I roll my eyes at James when he glances at me — his uncle's presence has also called his attention as it had mine.

"Good morning, Mr. West."

He sees me. "Boy, how is your wrist?" He then takes a peak at James. "lazy cowboy James told me yesterday."

"Yeah, but the tea—what was inside it?"

He laughs, "it's a medicine. You were suppose to rest in all day."

"I need to visit the library." I state.

"Hmm, around evening it should wear off." Placing down our food, he tells me, and dust his hands afterwards.

James booth tapping sound soon stop when he takes a seat at the right to his Uncle. I automatically take the left.

If this sleepiness should wear off around evening, I might not be able to visit the library, or even write. And I hate it when I don't write. If I should allow days to cover more days, while not writing, I could develop writer's block. That stage of my life as a writer is something I hate most. I hate the way it makes me feel so useless. I hate the way it makes it difficult for me imagine. But sometimes I would be able to imagine, but to put down those imagination into writing will be dead difficult.

"What are you thinking?" James soothing masculine voice calls me back to the now.

I look up at him. I hadn't noticed I was lost in my head.

"Nothing serious. If I should get better before night, I'll still visit the library. I need novels to read." I state, before sliding my own plate closer and start eating the rice.

We exchanged during eating, but it was not important conversations. James mentioned something about the barn. He wants to redecorate it, I guess. Mr. West says he'll be going to see someone who is his friend so that they can both talk about the plants in the greenhouse. I can't really keep up with the conversation.

James walk me up the stairs...wait, was that it? I think, he carried me. My legs felt like Jell-O. He tucks me under the sheet, and I don't complain as to him making me feel like a baby.

It doesn't take long for me to sleep off.

When I wake up, it is evening. The sun is still up into the sky, colouring it somewhat orange. My head vibrate as I sit up, and look around me.

The room is clear to my sight, and I feel no dizziness. When I stand, my legs are firm above the ground. I smile, finally recovered.

At the hem of the bed frame, I see a note there. It must be from James, I think. There's a white box, entailing something meant to be hidden. I pick up the note, and read.

"Open the box." Says the note.

Ooh, don't tell me this is some kind of surprise package. Not that I don't want though, I do love it. I just don't like the anxiety that it brings.

"Okay." I imagine myself answering the note, and then do as it says.

I gasp at what I saw once the wrappers are off. "Omg!" I want to scream, but can't, though the effect of how much astonished I am still reflect in my eyes. I can't believe it.

There's three books inside the package...that wasn't the cause for my exaggeration, but for the fact that those are the books I needed at the moment for the book I'm writing. I wrote these the names of these three book down inside my notepad, but — I'm surprised — how did he find out?

Just then, as my eyes roves around, I see my laptop on the writing desk with my phone beside it. On the screen of the laptop is a note, saying. "Start me. Write."

James really did this? Wow, he's one heck of a writing motivational person. I don't need to read this book, at least not for now with what he's did for me. I won't disappoint him.

With that in mind, I prop up from the bed, take a seat into the armchair, and turn on the laptop. My wrist is that much painful at all anymore, so once the desktop comes to life, I go to microsoft word, and begin my lifetime job.

This is one of the advantages of being a writer. The way the words flows in and out of your head, you, voicing them out into your e-notes. The way it takes you out from the real world, and put you in the life of your characters. The way it gives you a sense of escape. The way it gives you such power where you could give, and take life of your characters anytime you deem fit. That's just the powers. It's like being a superhero yourself.

When I'm done, the time is seven-twenty eight. Yeah, the time's gone, and I didn't even know. I turn on my phone...still no network available, so I turn it off. Assuming I even have much games, I'll kept busy. Maybe that's what I'll start doing. When I'm not writing, I play games to pass time.

There's no one in the living room, neither at the dining.

"Mr. West." I hear no reply. Then, it clicks in my brain. He mentioned something about going to meet his friend about the plants in the greenhouse. He must still be there.

The breeze fans onto my skin when I step outside, but it wasn't that bad. It was cold, yes, but it's fair, and seems somewhat needed for someone like me. My limbs are active, I feel energetic.

The light from around me, fixed to the poles gives my sense of sight a chance. I notice a change in the barn, it's been redecorated. Oh, God, I though I will be helping. Oh, fate, how strange are you?

The sound of shoes clicking calls my attention, ahead of me, before the sign board of entering the territory of James and his Uncle came the figure.