Zylith.

I have tons of excitements in my life. I used to call it stress but I feel much better now that I started calling it excitement.

Yeah, that's what I am calling all the fear-striking shrieking and panic attacks I portrayed in front of the residence of the chancellor manor. Had to act crazy, orders from above.

"OH MY GOSH! SOMEONE! SOMEONE SAVE ME. OH GOD! HELP! HELP ME PLEASE!" I rushed out of the room and sprinted around the corridors of the mansion screaming with every atom of my being. A bit exaggerated but...you get the picture. Acting wacky is what I am awesome at anyway. When I noticed people (not sure who) gathering around me, I cried with more violence than any gale. I was full on bonkers now.

"Th-There...The chancellor! Someone...SOMEONE MURDERED THE CHANCELLOR! GOD! BLOOD!!! BLOOD EVERYWHERE!" I'd gone from hysterics to hanging by a thread, a transformation no one knew how to reverse. And then, to confer the scene an exceptionally dramatic ending, I hit the floor into an unconscious trance. Okay you got me; I was pretending to be unconscious. But everybody bought the act. And I personally think I did a pretty good job at it.

There was a great deal of yelps and shrieks around the mansion after my awesome performance. Basically the mansion was quivering with anxious hollers as I lay knocked out on the cold concrete floor.

After a while, I was carried off to some room and was laid on fluffy covers, probably a bed. The bed, with its silken mattress was the most comfortable bed I had ever laid on. I slowly pressed my cheek to the cool velvet pillow while the thick irresistibly soft comforter enveloped me like a billowing cloud. It had been a long night and for once, I was relieved to rest my weary body. Warmth and darkness encased me and I felt myself succumbing to the call of sleep. But I forgot that I was presently experiencing life at a rate of several WTF's per hour.

How should I put it, my luck is like a bald guy who just won a comb in a grand lottery. Yes, that's it; because I find no better way to describe my sorry excuse of a life. And yes, you guessed it right! These guys in the chancellor mansion were trying to screw me all over again. Should I shout out a 'Bingo!' for you now?

"Please, this way doctor. Would you please take a look at the lady? She has been unconscious for quite a while now. We are not sure what exactly happened to her."

Erm...Excuse me! It's not been quite a while yet. I had been unconscious for hardly twenty minutes now. Okay thirty! Give or take a minute or two. But come on! Can't I take a breather after all the shit that I had to go through today? God! Have you heard of a thing called mercy?

"Hmm! Let me give her a check-up." No check-ups please! I am the peachiest mammal alive.

My silent pleas had gone into deaf ears as the doctor held my hand and took my pulse. After a moment's physical inspection and a redoubling heart-beat, the doctor spoke, "The patient seems to be lethargic and a bit anemic. It seems tonight's incident triggered a massive trauma on her already weakened self." Yes yes you are right. Great doctor. I love doctors. Keep going. Tell them how awful I feel and kick them out as soon as you can. "The patient needs nutrition and a lot of rest. I shall write a prescription for her medication and inject an instant remedy for now. She should be fine by tomorrow." Did he just say.... inject?

My breath stuttered in my lungs and as if my sixth senses' switch was flipped on at the mention of shots, I flipped open my eyes faster than lightning and sat up barreling for air. I wanted to bolt for the door as fast as my legs could take me but the sudden movement got me a little light-headed. I decided to take it easy and breathed deeply, my chest rising and falling rhythmically.

When I rose my eyes and they fell upon the doctor in whose care I was supposed to be in, for the first time in my life, I realized I was suffering from Latrophobia (fear of doctors). The guy was the mirror image of the hunchback of Notre dame, only very old; like hundred years old. His face was gaunt, lined and haggard before his time and there were wrinkles boring into his sockets. His heavily lined face was draped in a professional toothless smile and the small amount of hair that escaped from under his brown ragged hood was thin, white, and had very much its own ideas about how it wished to arrange itself.

He looked as if just a slight gust of wind could blow him away into oblivion.