Rice crispies

It was yet again another peaceful evening with the house empty and the smell of chicken curry simmering. I had just returned from a walk with my friend Sam, with the sun having set already in the winter time months of July. Alone at home, I turned on the alarm and closed all the windows.   My little kitty, "KFC", falling over her oversized paws tumbled into the kitchen. I switched on a David Icke DVD, to end the silence which seemed to only emphasize the buzzing sound of my mums inherited fridge.  

Twenty minutes into the DVD, I see a flashing light shine through my bedroom window. Naturally, I walk towards it. 

I  see the large eyes of a foreign creature before falling asleep on a white bed, in a white room, with an unfamiliar smelling substance being fed to me through an inhaling mask. 

My alarm goes off promptly at 6 am. KFC has made herself comfortable on my neck in my bed.

Standing in the shower, I reach for my argon oil shampoo only to see three strange diamond shaped scars on my left arm. I know they are scars because after ten minutes of exfoliating it does not seem to remove the assumed marks. 

The rice crispies seemed to lack its usual " crackle and pop".