This is a story about you. You’re sitting in a classroom, listening to a girl give a speech about you, and you are happy. You’ve always wanted to hear a speech about yourself. You’ve had such an interesting life, why shouldn’t everyone know about it? You settle back in your seat. The girl continues talking. She is talking about you. About how you didn’t get very much sleep last night because you were to busy chatting with the 105 friends you have on facebook and are at this moment so very, very tired. About how, as she speaks, your eyelids being to droop. The chair is extremely comfortable. You slide down towards the floor. Your muscles begin to loosen. You give one last, vain effort to keep yourself awake, but it’s no use. You plummet into the abyss of your subconscious, letting the dark recesses in your mind swell forth in an unyielding wave of memories and faces you wish you could forget.

When you open your eyes again, you can still hear the girl speaking, but there is nobody else in the classroom. You sit up quickly, looking around for someone, anyone, but you are alone. You look towards the wall where the clock is. The clock is gone. You reach for your phone and try to see at the time. Your phone is dead. You attempt to read the invisible watch you keep on your wrist in case of emergencies, but you soon remember that it is called an invisible watch for a reason, and you cannot read it. The voice continues to speak.

You stand up and cross the room to the door, peeking out to check the hallway. You look to the right. There is no-one there. You look to the left. There is no-one there. You look at the floor. There is no-one there, but instead of the normal white tile, all you see is a pool of shiny, red liquid. You are confused. You look up. And you gasp. There, pinned to the foam boards by some unseen force, is a body, covered in blood and black goo and some sort of green, fluorescent substance that appears to be moving. “What is that?” you ask yourself. You have never seen anything like this.

Suddenly, the eyes on the body fly open, and it takes you a moment to realize that they are your eyes. In your face. Which is attached to your body. You don’t know what to do. You’re frozen to the spot, fear keeping you as motionless as the other you in the ceiling. Or so you thought. Slowly, achingly slowly, the blood and goo and green fluorescent-covered you raises their arm and points a quivering finger straight at your face. 

“You are not meant to see this yet,” they whisper. “Forget my face. Your time will come.” The arm drops. You cannot look away. Those eyes—you eyes— are burning a chasm into your soul. Like in the classroom, you feel your body become heavy again. So heavy. So very, very…sleepy. And all this time, the girl’s voice continues in your ears, reminding you that this, this is your story.

And then you wake up. As you pull yourself into a sitting position, the girl finishes her speech. The bell rings. You collect your things, happy to have had refreshing nap in a class where the speaker wasn’t every talking about anything interesting. And you go home. 

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This has been a story about you. Because if there’s one thing everybody likes, it’s hearing about themselves.