The words on the foreign news station were suddenly translated by the sounds of warm, lazy air being transformed into blades sharp enough to bring down telephone poles. We had to stay indoors, not because of the tree that decided to take a nap against our hotel door, but because there was no one else around to share in our increasingly fantastic vacation.

After misplacing our luggage on our seven hour flight in the morning, getting lost in the Spanish country-side during the afternoon, and settling in to our deserted home for the next week at night, the murky and obese clouds that greeted us on day two seemed commonplace in the overall scheme of things.

An odd mixture of beach sand, salt water, and leaves from wind-blown trees pelted our windows, eliminating any chances of taking a mid-morning nap. Remnants of jet lag clung to me like the layer of blankets I dragged with me out of my room. My mom, lethargic in her armchair, followed my movements with her eyes, but stayed resolute in her own cocoon of blankets. I gave her a nod-shrug, a secret code we've mastered over the years. ‘Good morning’ She reciprocated with a quick motion of her own. Proper American English wouldn't begin to be spoken until our jet-lag took a break from keeping our heads in the clouds.

Our wooden jailer outside made it impossible to leave our cell, as well as the downed telephone poles making it impossible to call the policía ten miles up the road. After a couple dozen failed attempts to reach the operator, we sat in a silence routinely broken by the ruckus of continuous booms outside our window.

After a hearty breakfast of mini mart soup and day-old bread, the next hour seemed to drag on like the dark grey sacks hovering overhead. Our attempts to pass the time were greeted with airplane mode and white noise thanks to T-Mobile and flimsy satellite dishes. We quickly abandoned reading due to the restlessness that had buried itself into our stomachs after being trapped for a quarter of the day. Our last hope was the cabinet that rested under the TV, slightly dusty with under-use.

My mom had given me one command as she continued to sink into her cocoon of cotton. Her order, “Find something to do”, filled my knees as they sank to the floor then trekked into my hands to open the dusty gold-painted handle. Drawing back the door, I was greeted with a tribute to the 90’s in the form of the movies in rectangles covered with tough plastic. Stacking them next to the coffee table, I gathered my tools, water, a bowl and a full bag of chips. While the anti-pirating logo began to play, I settled into a couch cushion, planning to stay a while.

Three quarters of the rest of the day was spent with me entering extravagant ships and falling in love only to let go of him after our ship splits in half, telling strangers at a bus stop how life is like a box of chocolates, gliding through a French ballroom in the arms of a selfish prince turned beast, fighting off burglars because my parents thought that I needed to be left alone in the house at age of eight, and foiling the evil plans of Dr. Evil and his companion Mini Me.

The storm had ended halfway between me going to return a book and sending my father off into the woods with no map to speak of, but we were still being held captive by our wooden jailer. I shifted a bit to see the grey fade from the sky and reveal black ink and paid it no mind in order to sign my life away to the beast and reenact the effects of Stockholm syndrome.