The first thing she notices as she looks around are the green numbers flashing 12:18 in the darkness. Sleep hadn’t come nearly as much as it used to in the past few months, years, so this sort of thing is relatively normal. Except for the fact that this time she was woken up from her light sleep by some sort of noise, a thumping or a knocking or a beeping. She waits for a moment, struggling to see in the black as her eyes adjust to the faint glow from the clock. Nothing is out of place, her door is still shut, and no one else seemed disturbed by whatever had woken her.
After a few moments, it sounded again, making her heart beat faster as the muscles in her body jumped to alertness. Her eyes frantically darted to the sound, heart still racing, blood still pumping adrenaline through her veins. A shaky hand reached out into the pitch towards where the sound had emanated, toward the object her eyes beheld. As she opened the phone, the screen told her she had a new text, and after clicking it, her frantic heart seemed to still in her chest, frozen in what some might call fear but was more like shock-confusion-denial-humor. Because surely the words from her best friend, “Fuck. It’s the RAGE!” was some sort of joke that was entirely not funny at twenty past midnight, and as she hit the call button with “you fucking asshole, that’s not fucking funny,” on the tip of her tongue, she had this vague feeling in the hole in her stomach that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a joke at all.
Now I'm off to see how hooking up the turntable I got my dad for christmas is coming along. I also feel like me and mine didn't make up "the rage". I feel like they really did call it that in the movie.
