Fiction On Odyssey: Stranded — Part One

Throbbing. That is the first thing that I think of when my eyes flutter open. My head is throbbing and I cannot remember why. Everything looks fuzzy like seeing through a film of cotton.

Okay, so what do most people do in these types of situations? A mental check list? Little bit of a cliché, but if it can help me remember what the hell happened last night I can take a swing at it.

Cliché Mental Check List:

-Name: Thomas Kennedy

-Date of Birth: October fourth, 1999

-President: Don’t think I want to answer this but, Donald J. Trump

Those are the questions they ask, right? I think so but at least my vision is clearing up. Where the hell am I? OK, so now what do I do? I literally have no clue of where I am. I slowly check to make sure my limbs are at least still intact. When I finally get the nerve to sit up I see a mass of bodies around me. Like something out of a frat-house party where everyone fell asleep after getting too drunk. Maybe that explains the throbbing headache I had. Did I really have too much to drink? I could swear I did not drink anything. The house that I was in was disgusting even for my standards, where clean basically means having everything in piles around the room where it might be found. Emphasis on the word might.

The stench of alcohol was so strong that it smelled like the house was covered in it. I slowly got up and started to walk towards another room to my left. I cannot even think straight right now and I am trying to investigate where I am. The room leads straight to a door I would hope would lead straight outside. There might be something here that I could figure out what happened to me last night.

I have a choice to make:

Should I go outside, or Continue investigating the house?

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