• tab I am alone in my room – surrounded by the stark silence of my house and the cleanly smell of lemon Pledge – sitting on my bed. Opening a book flat in my palms, I begin to attempt to go into the world of literature. I switch my position so that my head and upper back are hanging off the side of my bed. Read. Flip the page. Read. Yawn. Read. I feel strange when the blood begins to pool in my head, so I flip up – ignoring the temporary nausea I feel from the blood returning to the rest of my body – and lie on my back, with my head on my pillow and holding the book parallel to my face. When I begin to get fidgety I jump up and walk around. Book still in hand and eyes still on the page; I wander across the floor of my room.
    tab It gets dark pretty quickly this time of year, so I dash to the windows to cover them up. Still reading, I fumble with the clasp for my shades. One, two, the windows are pitch black. Specks of dust litter the air as I squint and read in the bookish dark and run my fingers across the walls, partially to keep from tumbling over a few pairs of shoes strewn across my floor. I find the switch on the wall next to my door and turn the light on. As my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, I make my way back to my bed – almost forgetting to trip over the area rug protecting my floor. I lie on my stomach, with my head where my feet should be and my feet where my head should be. I grab my pillow and rest my chin on it, and continue to read. I’m almost done with the chapter I’m on when the world goes dark again.
    tab I wake up an hour later, wondering why my head is where my feet should be and why my feet are where my head should be. I scan my room. Where is Hamlet: Prince of Denmark? Oh, there he is. Laertes has stabbed him, and he is lying dead on my floor, pages splayed.