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Hey, this is just the first chapter of a little story I've been working on. I haven't yet thought of a good title for it, so any suggestions are appreciated! Comments and questions are encouraged. Thanks!

1

You know, you have a very strange face.
What?
Your face. It’s weird. Your eyes are slightly off and your nose is crooked. Your ears are uneven, too.
Who are you?
Well now, that is on a need-to-know basis. And you don’t need to know. You’re very lanky, too. You should gain some weight. Eat more food.
Why are you talking to me?
Why not? Am I not allowed to talk to people now? Are you my mother? God, your clothes are filthy. You need a new wardrobe. Have you heard of the mall? They’ve got some good stuff there. Most of it is pretty affordable, too.
Please go away. I just want to sleep.
Yeah…can’t do that. Can’t slack off on the job, know what I mean? Besides, that big test is today and it’s already…wow! It’s already noon!

---

“What?!” Lester shouted, sitting up too fast and slamming his head against the bunk above. “Arrgh! Dammit! Ow!” He held a hand to his throbbing forehead and looked at his bedside clock. 4:23. In the morning. On a Saturday. He sighed and fell backward, hitting his skull on the headstand of the bed. “What the hell! Agh!” He took the pillow he had been aiming for, wrapped it around his head, and tried to go to sleep, although being able to feel his pulse in the front and back of his head didn’t help his attempt.

---

Bouncing. Why the bouncing?
That would be your dog. I believe she needs to use the facilities. Why are you asleep again?
You woke me up at four in the morning. I don’t need to be up that early, especially on the weekend.
How do you know? You don’t know what could happen today that you should be up early for.
Who are you?
Do you really want to know?
Yes, I’d appreciate knowing who’s talking to me in my sleep.
Alright. I’m your conscience.
Really?
No, jeez. You’re really gullible. Consciences can’t talk. At least not coherently.
So who are you?
The guy that’s getting the hell out of the way when your dog starts peeing on your head.

---

Lester woke up just as the greyhound began squatting. “Francis, no!” The large dog looked at her boy with sad eyes, and assumed a standing position. Lester glanced at the clock again. 4:48. “You couldn’t hold it for a few more hours?” Francis continued to look at Lester with a my-bladder-will-burst-if-I-don’t-pee-soon look in her brown eyes. “Alright, I’m up. Let’s go outside, yeah?” The dog jumped up happily and knocked its boy down. “Yes, of course, tackling me will get you outside faster,” Lester sighed, getting back up. He walked through the hallway and to the back door. He opened it to let out Francis, and decided to step out himself into the bright morning light.

He watched Francis sprint out to the flower patch in the rear of the backyard to relieve herself. He could almost see her smile of relief. Something seemed wrong, though. It wasn’t the young greyhound, who peed on the painstakingly cared-for flowers like clockwork. Something…in general. Lester walked out onto the grass, and petted Francis when she ran up to him. “What is it, girl? What’s wrong out here?” He looked around slowly, taking it all in. Everything seemed normal. You do know what time it is, right? whispered a voice in the back of his head. “Yeah, of course. I just saw it. It’s almost five…” He looked up at the sky as he realized what was wrong. It was bright outside, bright as high noon, and the sun shouldn’t even have risen yet.

When his eyes caught sight of the meteor descending, a blindingly fiery sphere directed straight at his house, Lester felt his bladder let go. Technically, it’s a meteorite, whispered the voice. A meteor would cause extinction-level destruction, and I don’t think you’re that important. I do think you have time enough to get a change of clothes before you need to get the hell out of dodge. I’d say the damage will be within a…twenty-five mile radius, give or take. It’ll hit in about half an hour, so you better drive fast. I’ll talk to you if you make it. And who wets themselves nowadays?

---

Three minutes and forty-seven seconds later, Lester peeled out of his driveway with a hastily packed suitcase, several gallon-sized baggies of dog food, and his canine compatriot, Francis. There had been a moment of panic when he wasn’t able to find his keys, but they were on the road now.
And the day just kept getting brighter.

Thanks for catching the spelling error...I can't believe I didn't see that... sweatdrop

But I'm currently working on it, so expect more soon. And THANK YOU for reading and commenting. I really appreciate your feedback.

Oh, and I need to read Douglas Adams. I still have yet to read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, or any of the sequels.