Muslims don't do Christmas

who: Saj
when: morning
where: his room

Probably not the best way to wake up by anyone's standards, was with "Jingle Bells" being piped into your bedroom at an ungodly volume. But Saj was not anyone. Saj was a child on his first Christmas morning, with his first Christmas present, and he was psyched beyond belief.

Scrambling out of bed and crawling across the floor to the parcel he tore through the paper, not even registering the puppy-dog pattern, bopping his head along with the music in a slightly bleary-eyed fashion. His face fell slightly when he found a box of unmarked CDs. Were they blank or what? He scratched his head and fumbled next to his bed for his personal CD player.

The first one he jammed in played what sounded like the open credit music of Kutch Kutch Hota-Hoi. He laughed joyously, although it was kind of hard to register the Bollywood music underneath the twinkly Christmas carol. He tried another few CDs, unearthing Public Enemy, and a couple of Pari Hoon remixes. "Fucking SWEET. I wish they'd been fucking labeled though..."

He grabbed another CD from the box at random and snapped it into the CD player. Waiting for the music expectantly he was disappointed when all he heard was static and crackling white noise. "Aw for fuck's sake. Do I have to work out which ones are broken or some bollocks??"

and then he heard the voice. Muffled and hissing, but still hers. Still undoubtedly hers. It whispered and it said the date - yesterday's date by his calculations. Fucking YESTERDAY. It said other things to - Her name. And then most importantly, what sounded like "I don't know where I am".

He jumped to his feet, eyes wide, jaw slack, hating the Christmas music with an uncharacteristic vigor.
"Shut the FUCK up!" he shouted to the ceiling, trying to jam the headphones further into his ears, turning the volume way up. He didn't know what to do about this. He couldn't quite process the information. That was fucking CARLY. And he couldn't HEAR her. But he knew who would know what to do - Jesse. He made his way downstairs at triple-time for the computer, for once not looking to see if Scott or Will or anyone was around. This was more pressing. He needed someone he was friends with. Someone who could help. Not some big fucking queen.

"I'll find you, Carly. I'll fucking find you."