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(01) The Tales Of Ham

(01) The Tales Of  Ham

Everything would be fine, they said.

It would be easy, they said.

I huff as I squeeze through the thick crowd of people, trying my hardest to keep my claustrophobia at bay. Christmas carols waft through the air as the people around me fuss and bustle about, all trying to finish their last minute shoping before the mall closes over the holidays, just like me.

I blame my brother for this. He had forgotten to buy ham (the Horan family never goes by Christmas without ham—it's a "tradition") and so my mother had forced me to buy one. I had been against it, complaining that Greg had forgotten it and not me, and so he must be the one to go back and buy one. But, my brother had very unconvincingly (to me, anyway) told Mum that he was tired of having to shop for over an hour and insisted that I should go instead.

He's enjoying this, I just know it. Probably praising himself right now. 

Greg knows that the ham our family has grown to love can only be bought here—and he knows how much I hate it here. 

Simply, I hate anything and everything that's associated with him. Even his name is greatly annoying that I can't voice it in my own thoughts. His family owns this Mall, much like many businesses here in Wolverhampton and the rest of the United Kingdom. They're filthy rich. They could've bought every single house and lot in this city and it wouldn't even change their probably gazzilionaire status.

But the heir to their throne, the one who would soon lead their empire? Well, he's a jerk. A down-right git.

And you must be wondering why I don't like it here? Yeah, sure, his family owns the place, but why would you hate it here? It's not like he would be here . . . right?

No. He would be here, I just know it. I probably see him in this Mall more often than in school. The possibility of having a run-in with him here is great. And I could just feel that ominous sign of my bladder conrtracting. 

I need to pee. I'm never one to have control over my bladder. When I have to go, I have to go.

So, ham still not in hand, I dash towards the nearest comfort room and enter it, the flesh below my abdomen contorting and crumpling like paper. The ham could wait for only 5 minutes.

I quickly do my business and wash my hands, shivering a bit from the cold water. I'm about to walk out, carry on and be done with this hell of a task, when I feel a sudden jolt in my skull. The pain bursts through my head, iron-hot and excruciating, running through my body in flames. An overwhelming feeling of nausea washes over me. Shuts down my muscles and my tendency to stand upright.

I collapse on the cold floor of the bathroom.

I don't know what to do, or what's happening. I don't know how to fight my sight from blurring and fading.

I freaking hate this Mall.