Day 1:

The last 24 hours have been the utmost unnerving to my spirit. Just a day ago, I was drafting vows for my dearest Filene, so anticipating a new life as the Prince of Labia. I have yet to visit the country I would be in line to rule, should the King succumb to an unexpected blow to the head, but from what I hear and have googled, Labia sounds to be very near paradise, although the scent can be somewhat of an acquired taste.

While making the short trip to the alter, I was ambushed. A heavy van broadsided my limo. My entire life flashed before my eyes as the slide collection my mother compiled of my entire life ruptured among the cabin before my eyes. Two things occurred to me at that moment: My mother was a horrible with a Minolta, and second, she was insistent on convincing the wedding guests that I spent my entire first decade butt-naked.

I had little time to perceive the severity of what occurred when consciousness slipped the bonds of my being. Darkness. Nothing.

I awoke here, in a cluttered and decidedly non feng-shui decorated room. I fathom hours had passed. Either the coarse horizontal light stinging my eyes was from the morning sun, or late evening, either of which I had no clue. I was naked and tied to bed post. My vision was blurry and I surmise that several ribs on my left side must have been broken. I heard a noise and quickly played unconscious.

A boyish figure entered the room. He was shirtless and unusually hairless. From what I could discern without fully opening my bruised and swollen eyes, I estimated him to be 12. He had a horrible haircut and the pungency of a ruptured can of Axe Body Spray dumped into a bucket of prepubescent pheromones. He sat facing a 1990's era 486 PC. It made a horrible ruckus, pinging, and buzzing, then finally a cheerful "You've got mail!". Good Lord, do people really still use dial-up AOL? What hell had I been cordoned to???

I remained motionless as he clicked his way through 30 button menus until he had found his digital destination. A tune chimed from the filthy speakers on the floor as his head bobbed and rocked to the wretched sound of girl's nasal chronicles of riding in the back seat with her friends. I knew at that moment, I must escape, for I could not survive in such conditions for very long. I fought the desire to scream. Then fought the desire to weep. By the fifth playing, I simply held my breath until all went black.

Peace at last.

Day 2:

My neck was stiff. With my hands tied behind me to the bed post, I spent the last unknowable hours sitting up, asleep. It was quiet. So unnervingly quiet. It seems as though I was the only conscious being in a mile. The only sound was my breath, and heart beat. I opened my only eye that I could open and lifted my head in agony. In the darkness, I got my best inventory of the surroundings since the crash.

The only light was from the monochrome tangerine glow of a sodium vapor street lamp perhaps 100 yards away, shining through the almost opaque dirty pane of a 10 inch by 20 inch window across the room. grass blades caressed the bottom portions. I was subterranean. The quarters were crammed with the toys of the boy that I suspect may still be in the room with me. I strained to focus.

There... On the nightstand/tiny used condom catch basin... A family photo! I blinked and squinted until my eyes could discern the identity of the boy that had me tied in this hell on Earth. Perhaps a full minute of straining I saw what appeared to be.... Justin Bieber? No... more mop than even him, and dare I say, a worse mop... No! It couldn't be! Then it all started to make sense. The 12-year-old body... the horrible room... the Axe Body Spray. Shirtless. Yes, it had to be...

Trizza. Fo sho.

When morning came, my fears were realized. Now, I wish I could tell you that I fought the good fight, and that Trizza let me be. I wish I could tell you that - but this bedroom is no fairy-tale world.

Tonight, I shall plan my escape before this place gets the best of me.