The Worst Day Of My Life.

I woke up naked.

Wondering where I was, what had happened. My eyes hurt like I a bad hangover. Through the blur, I became aware of my surroundings. I was in a small dirt room, the walls were white brick and it smelled like a burnt orange. That was of course between the smell of blood and sweat emanating from my body. I had a large stitched incision in my abdomen and I felt sick to my stomach.

I moved towards the door and tried opening it. A loud command in a language I didn’t understand yelled back at me.

I backed away from the door.

“How did I get here?!” “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?” I thought to myself.

I knew I wasn’t getting out of here soon. I slumped to the ground in a heap and waited…

Hours later…

The door flung open. A man with an AK47 walked up to me and kicked me. He yelled something and I got up.

He wanted me to go ahead of him down the hallway. I slowly walked past him and out of the room.

I walked as fast as I could down hallways and through garbage filled rooms, His constant yelling kept me going further and further down this rabbit hole. I finally came to a dirty room with bed and a table. There was a door that looked like it lead outside. A pair of shorts and a shirt were hung on a hook. He pointed at them and said something. He wanted me to put the clothes on. I hurriedly did so.

He produced a pair of flip flops and threw them at me. When I put them on and looked up, he had produced a brown bag. Throwing it at me I caught it in mid air.

He wanted me to get out of there… I didn’t ask twice.

When I opened the door I walked outside to a busy street somewhere in Mexico. My life it seemed, had gotten interesting.


We see a large classroom, I’m standing at a podium surrounded by children and about to give the final line to my book.

“And that children is why you should never, ever be a drug mule for the Sinoloa Cartel.” The children, their mouths agape had no way to process the information I had just given them.

“The good news is that the bag contained thirty thousand dollars.” “I used that money to start a business, and here I am today.” “With hard work, determination and a little creativity even you can make your dreams a reality.”

A small child with a be freckled face raised his hand. “What about the incision?” He squeaked.

“Snitches get stitches.” I said calmly. “The cartel wanted me to remember what I had done.”

The reality? I had cut myself accidentally on broken mug the week before and had completely forgotten when I woke up in Mexico.

*If you look at the previous post to this one, a reader challenged me to write about, “Imagine it, You have no food, no home, no friends, can’t speak the language, what do you do, amen.”

So I wrote about it.

The End.


About MaximumWage

I don't wear shoes. And I habitually reinvent myself, like the wheel.
This entry was posted in A Magical world filled with mystery and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The Worst Day Of My Life.

  1. bwcarey says:

    great piece of a story, well done, i can see more to the adventure..

  2. The Cutter says:

    So they paid a snitch $30,000? Something doesn’t add up.

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