[MeechMunchie]

I attempted comedy, and pondered the immediate consequences of unintentional teleportation.

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The click of the lock sliding into place. The clunk of the seat being lifted. The feel of cool bathroom tiles underfoot. One by one, all the tiny reassurances of home added up. It had been a tough day. Schoolwork was difficult, the teachers were uncaring and his classmates wouldn't leave him alone. Still, he was home now, and glad of it. Even something as simple as urination became significant when it was in the peace of your own bathroom. Jack unzipped his flies and inhaled silently.

He blinked.

There was no warning, sign or sound. He was falling from three feet in the air onto someone's bed. Whoever that person was, he landed on their back, feet first.

There is a strange thing that happens to people when something goes horribly, horribly wrong. The next few seconds seem to slow down before one's eyes as you see everything spiral into chaos. In less than one the person - a large young man of around seventeen - had spun around, sending Jack flying headlong into the wall. Jack struggled to take everything in, recollecting thoughts in his throbbing head while desperately trying to do up his trousers and shuffle to the door. It was also at this point that Jack noticed that the boy was not alone in bed. A startled-looking blonde girl was staring at him, clutching the duvet to her chest in the most dignified reaction to this sudden invasion of privacy she could manage. The young man was about to open his mouth to shout, so Jack instinctively took the initiative and barged in first.

'I don't know what you did or how you did it, but I want you to send me back this second. I don't have a clue what's going on, but this is not what I need right now. I don't care what you want, just send me back. SEND ME BACK!'

The teenager's face momentarily turned from rage to an expression of apprehensive confusion. Then back into rage. Jack didn't really bother listening. He supposed the bloke had every right to be angry. He had just appeared in his bedroom (and totally wrecked his chances), after all. The bloke sounded American. Texan, maybe. Jack attempted to stand up. His legs were still where they should be, at least. He started to eye up the exits. Jack had never been to America, but the barren landscape outside certainly looked Texan, and he's seen enough of the South in TV to know that some old guy with a shotgun was about to burst into the room.

A few seconds later, his suspicions were proven to be correct as two cold metal barrels were pressed into back of his head.

'Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?' said the drawling, gravelly voice behind him.
'Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that.'

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