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Writer's pictureOphelia Stähelin

Short Story #1

Updated: Mar 8, 2020

On a sunny Friday morning...


My head aches.

I squeeze my eyes together before I open them.

Bright light hurts them.

I close them again.

Then I open them slowly and realise where I am.

Tom's place. Or was it Tim?

"Shit, shit, shit", I murmur and am fully awake. I sit up in the bed, pushing the white linen back. Who the hell has white linen sheets? This only happens in TV adverts for Ariel or Coral, but not in real life. Real life has colorful sheets. With patterns. Points or stripes or at least a color. But not plain white.

Or did I end up in hospital? Was I so drunk I got into a alcohol coma and they had to pump off my stomach?

"Jesus", I whisper and look around me to verify that I am not in hospital. I am in a guy's house, who has white bed sheets and realise that I am already two hours too late for work.

"Jesus Christ!", I yell and swing me legs off the bed. Where was the bathroom again? Where are my clothes? My bag? My phone? Desperate I look around the room, which is very spacious and bright (my poor eyes realised that already). Where the hell did I land?

Tim or Tom must earn an awful lot of money, no one else I know could earn so much and afford that kind of flat. I look outside the window. Opposite me stands the House of Parliament and the scaffolded Big Ben. "Holy ...", I murmur and stop myself before I swear another time. I woke up a few minutes ago and I've sworn so much already. My sister told me I swear too much. She's right.

Prime location, so I should be okay to get into work.

Work, the thought of it brings me back on getting my clothes together which are spread all around the floor and my bra hanging on the 55" TV in the room. Who the hell has a 55" TV?!

Once I am dressed I look for my bag, pull over my coat and leave this place before I wonder more how rich this person must be. Definitely out of my league.

Lucky me he was not around and I didn't have to deal with any questions. The questions would come at work. I close the door behind me silently and climb down the stairs of this modern building. I pull out the phone from my bag and go through my messages from my friend Loreen. 17 missed calls from her and 35 messages on WhatsApp asking where I was.

I type: "alive, on my way" and reach the exit from the building. The fresh March air is blowing through my undone hair.

"Citymapper, citymapper", I murmur whilst walking towards the arches. A park in front of me. I open the app and press "Way to Work". 30 minutes to Liverpool Street. Uuff. Victoria line from Vauxhall. I look up. So I am in Vauxhall?! How the hell did I end up here? We were in bloody Camden, on the opposite side of London.

A new message pops up on my screen. Loreen: "Where the hell are you???"

"Vauxhall", I type and look around. I desperately need to fix my make-up and cannot do this on the tube, it's shaking too much. And I need a coffee, or water. Something for my dry mouth. And my head.

I walk towards the park and decide to stop and do my make-up here. I put my bag on the floor, search for my make up bag, pull out the little mirror, making sure the sun is not shining in my neck and I start applying. I sigh.

A young woman with loads of men shirts from a nearby laundry passes by and from the corner of my eye I see her smiling at me. Yeah, yeah, you just smile, I think and finish off with the mascara. Critically I look at myself in the small round mirror. It'll do for this Friday.

Hastily I pack everything in my bag. It's almost eleven o'clock. "Argh", I scream and start running to what looks like the end of the park. Underground. There we go. Next to Nando's. Oh, I could really do with some fried chicken. Well, not my stomach apparently, as my tummy is rebelling with the thought of chicken. Yeah, maybe better a bacon roll first.

I look again at my watch whilst waiting for the traffic light to go green. No time for a bacon roll. I text Loreen to organise me one and then I cross the street. I walk underneath the arch and then finally see the entrance to the underground. Victoria line to Oxford Circus and then the Central line to Liverpool Street. Easy. Right next to a Sainsbury's. I feel relieved. There is time to get a bottle of water. In a hurry I rush into the shop, grab the first bottle of water I see and walk to the till. I look for my card in my messy bag, pay and leave as fast as I can, climbing down the stairs to the underground when my phone buzzes. I hope it's Loreen but when I look at the screen an unknown number appears. Whilst walking through the ticket gates and tapping in with my Revolut, I open the message. Maybe I get a clue of why I ended up in Vauxhall. With Tim or Tom. Whoever.

"Seems like you're quite in a hurry with no time for breakfast ..." I stare at my phone, then around me.

I look at the message in disbelief. Then, another message comes in from the same number, but before I open it, my phone shuts down and leaves me alone with thousands of questions in my head standing on the platform.

... to be continued.

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