His eyes reluctantly slid down, orange glare continued to throb against his closed eyelids. He turned on his side and pulled the duvet up to his chin.
He heard it before he felt it. The loud reverberating crash, like an operatic cymbal, followed by scattered tinkling.
James horizontally leapt in fright, smashing his head against his hardwood headboard. He swung his legs round dizzied, and looked towards the window nearest his Computer. It had been smashed, and on his floor was a crumbling red brick that had slid along his floor and drawn a thick orange line across his carpet until coming to its resting place against his phone. Shattered sections of glass decorated his floor blocking his route to the window. Now barefoot he grabbed his wheely chair, gave himself a kick off and rolled over to his window, ignoring the glass being crunched further into his carpet by the cheap plastic wheels.
He peered through the porthole of air now the centrepiece of his window.
There was a large, ogre of a chap dressed in the latest sports outfit, adorned in ticks, those ticks the unpleasant wish to coat themselves in, seeking affirmation even in their clothing.
“You fucked up big time kiddo”
He spat those words. Literally. He spat when he spoke.
Fuck.
“Get down here. Now.”
“But...”
“Get the FUCK down here, before I throw another”
The ogre tossed a brick up in his left hand a little way and caught it to demonstrate his seriousness in the matter.
Fuck.
“No”
“No? I’m giving you one fucking chance you little shit. Get down here now, and we can talk about what you did.”
He didn’t do anything. Not really. He didn’t mean to...
In a situation like this you should probably call the police, call for help. You should NOT grab your old paintball gun from behind your wardrobe and shoot an angry fat man with a brick.