Chapter 2

Once I stand up, I can see that the glass is only broken in a ring around me. Good. I manage to avoid it, and pull on a pair of jeans and a baggy shirt. That’s when I notice just how empty the room is: no washing machine, no desk, no pile of books. It’s as if the house I had lived in for almost five years never existed; it’s been reduced to a perfectly symmetrical room with only one way out. At least the staircase was still there, though I can’t help but wonder if it’s just there to torment me. Freedom.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

A large ball of fur plops right in front of me with a loud thunk. At first, I think it might be Archimedes but it can’t be; the fat cat was an orange tabby not a grayish-blue fuzzball with no discernable facial features. All of a sudden, these huge eyes just pop out of its fur, filled with curiosity. The eyes are round and almost human, flecked with brilliantly-colored sparkles. After everything I’ve been through, should I be afraid of it? Should I run, cry, scream? Someone had to paint these symbols on the floor and I’m not sure that this thing is even capable of drawing intricate spirals and swirls. No, it’s oddly comforting that a strange alien creature is sitting right in front of me. I’m actually relieved to know that there are some things out there even weirder than me.

Thunk.

The fuzzball pushes on the ground in front of me, making that sound again. I reach out to touch it, and it contracts into a teeny, tiny hard ball.

“Hmm…” I can’t believe I’m talking to it, but at this point I have nothing left to lose; it bounces, hard with another thunk as if it’s trying to get my attention. “Guess I’ll call you ‘Thunk’ then. Do you want me to take you with me?”

Thunk rolls over to me and stretches into a long, caterpillar-thin line. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I tell it. Or maybe it’s a ‘him’?

“Guess the only other thing to do is get out of here, then.” It feels good to have someone—something—to talk to. Thunk slithers up my leg and into my cupped hands; he’s light—so incredibly light—it’s almost as if if I’m holding a cup of air. I put him in my shirt pocket and he forms into a small rectangle about the size of a pack of gum. I don’t even want to think about where (or how) his eyes are squishing into its fur. Right now, I got bigger things to think about like that set of stairs and where it leads.