| A stranger in my home, and I don't know if I like him all that much. |
[Oct. 24th, 2006|10:38 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | home. | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  falling asleep....not good.... | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Pantera-I'll cast a shadow | ] |
-Preface-*I woke up this morning at exactly 4:02 a.m. for no apparent reason. The following events describe (in excrucitating and completely unnescecary detail) my physical actions, as well as mental ones, in the exact order in which they occured. For some indefinate amount of time before awakening, I vaguely remember tossing and turning, dreaming a nightmare of a plague which had befallen the entire human race. It had no detectable medical symptoms, only a psychological one. It's only psychological effect was taht it caused the infected person,(in this dream, everyone on earth), to reject and despise the prescence of their loved ones, yet in their abscence, long for them in a way that was almost like the need to breathe.*
-4:02 a.m.-
My eyes opened, and I sat straight up. I did not remember what had awoken me. A spell of dizziness came over me, and I fell forward. As I was laying upon my comforter face first, i realized that nothing had happened to awaken me. I managed to sit up again, this time the dizziness wasn't too much for me to deal with. I looked around my room, which I usually kept in a comfortable disarray. I remembered that I had cleared out my compilation of empty soda cans and my make-shift mattress of laundry earlier that evening.
However, paper, sheet music, and old rusty guitar strings and other such debris littered my off-white tiles. As I gazed around my room through my half-opened eyes, my hearing level seemed to ascend to a level of accuracy that was surely unattainable by a mere human, and that was what shocked me out of my groggy stupor. Wide awake, I could hear everything in the house, and I could hear everything in the house, and I could depict between my mother tossing adn turning in the next room, to the leaky faucet in the kitchen, to the air condition's soft hum, to the sound of my idiotic turtle kicking at his water. With my over-acute hearing, the second hand's monotonous ticking made it's prescence known.
After a moment of this, I suddenly came to the realization that my throat was burning with thirst. I rose from the bed, and went to get something to drink. I stared blankly into the fridge, until finally I realized that the only thing there was to drink was Black Cherry Vanilla Coke.
I don't suppose I've ever mentioned this, but I FUCKING HATE BLACK CHERRY VANILLA COKE!!! I don't know why I don't tell people about this, but I (for some unearthly and quite possibly ridiculous reason) keep up the facade that it's my favorite.
While mumbling a curse on my mother for purchasing the said beverage, I relunctantly pulled one from the box and popped it open. I began to drink it on the way back to my room. I sat back down on my bed, and continued to consume the revolting soft drink, allowing it to replace my sore throat with a version of it's own.
As I sat on my bed and contemplated the myriad of possible reasons to which I had awoken, I realized that the Black-Cherry-Vanilla-version of the thisty-soar-throat was even worse than the one I had awoken with.
I ventured once again from the unorthadox semi-sanctity of my bedroom, yet again in search of a thirst-quencher. This time I rumaged a little deeper into my refridgerator. This time, I retrieved a quarter gallon of milk. I poured some of it into a glass. This time, I waited to drink it until I had returned to my room.
I began to chug the milk as fast as humanly possible. When I was finished, I reverted to a laying position, staring blankly up at my pop-corn ceiling.
As I laid there, I felt the coke and the milk converge in my system...or, at least try to. My stomach was rejecting the mixture I had just bestowed upon it.
My stomach turned inside and out, adn i felt for sure I was gaining an impressive amount of ulcers. I rushed into the bathroom in hopes of -not- having to spray my vomit on to my belongings.
I sat on the bathroom floor, worshipping the Porcelain God, and kneeling before this Holy Throne, I prayed for it to catch the concoction of soda pop and pasteurized, homogenized dairy product. I prayed for it to flush it away into the graveyard of everything I'd consumed over the past decade: My septic tank.
However, at the last given moment, on my last strand of hope, my stomach reached deep within it's very soul and pulled out the strength and courage to tolerate the milk and soda pop. Instead of reguritating, I found that my stomach found a new way to get rid of the pressure caused by the chemical reaction in my stomach.
I let our a ginormous belch.
And then I had to pee.
And maybe, just maybe, something a little more. (Poop!)
So I was sitting upon the toilet and taking care of some business, when my extra sensitive auditory functions began to pick up something towards the rear of my house. I thought of it as nothing, at first, sure that it was my mother walking around, intoxicated and groggy, just as I was not all so long ago. But then I heard my mother roll over in her bed. I heard the unidentified noise making itself mobile through my humble abode. At this point I tried to attach a persona to the small sound, and I came to the conclusion that this was not a sound at all, but a knowledge of something's prescence. I wasn't hearing anything, I was feeling it.
It was now that fear coursed through my veins and arteries, closely followed by a shot of adrenaline.
I began searching through my bathroom, looking for something I could use to combat the silent intruder. I looked all over, finding nothing except an open can of Comet. I decided that the the can of tub cleanser could just as easily get into my eyes as the intruder, assuming that the intruder had eyes, which I was no longer entirely convinced of. I settled on a can of Gilette shaving gel. I counted to three, slowly, then burst open my bathroom door and since I saw nothing, I rushed into my room once again, in search of a greater weapon. I have kept in a corner of my room a long wooden pole and a metal baseball bat, for just such an occasion. I have them for specific purposes each. For instance, I would choose the wooden pole for a great number of intruders, due to it's versatility, light-weight, and speed. I can deal a fair amount of damage very quickly. The other option was the Louisville Slugger, a small black baseball bat. (The weapon of choice in this particular scenario.) It's much heavier, and deals a much greater amount of damage, yet this power calls for it to sacrifice it's speed and versatility. It's raw power of mindless destruction made it perfect for annhilating the intruder in my home.
I re-emerged from my bedroom, this time overwhelmed with rage, which had taken the place of my desperate fear as a defense mechanism. I searched my house, closets, bedrooms, and even the shower and attic. I knew every inch of this house like the blemishes on my hands. I found absolutely nothing. I checked the locks on the doors, making sure they were locked like they were when I first drifted off to sleep. They were, which confirmed my theory that the prescence I had felt was not human in origin.
Feeling disheartened and defeated, I retreated back into my sanctity, my bedroom, with my proverbial tail between my exhausted legs.
-5:07-
I trugded my way over to my bed, where I laid down and pulled my comforter up to my chin. I stared once again at teh drops of plaster on my ceiling. My mind was buzzing, trying to make sense of the strange occurence. I allowed some of the weight to return to my eye lids, and just as my ultra sensitive ears began to dull, they picked up a faint disturbance in the house. My eyes snapped open, my ears returned to their heightened state, yet I remained perfectly immobile. I identified the noise as my mother moving around in her bed. i was preparing my self for another feeble attempt at sleep, even though I knew this was futile, due to the fact that I would be summoned to an educatory detention facility in two or so hours. But yet again, as if torturing my mind, I heard another auditory prick in the ear. This time it startled me, and I began to feel fear again. There was a click at my door, as if someone took one of the broken wood chips in the face of my door and pulled it back slightly, and let it smack against the rest of my door.
I heard this twice, and then, as if chased by a most fearsome phantasm, the prescence left my home, replaced by yet another.
This one was familiar, and it's visitation was always welcome in my home.
He sat upon the foot of my bed for some time, and I found that my gaze had locked itself upon his white robe, and on his large wooden staff, which was a simple wooden stick, with a bulge at one end. The bulge had two small holes in it, and it contained a great deal of sand. My sensitive ears picked up the sounds of the grains of majestic, silvery sand, falling around inside the bulge. I lisetened to it's comforting sounds for quite some time, and finally the Sandman moved his staff over my head and allowed some of his sand to trickle out. It fell with vigilant grace onto my eys. My hearing was instantly dulled into a sub-human level, but could distinctly hear what the Sandman said next, as if his vocalized wisdom that had come with his age was being played inside my head: "Sleep. You have been visited tonight, and will be visited again in the future. But for now, you have earned some rest. You will not be bother again this night." He reached for my face, laying his palm upon my nose, using his index and ring fingers to touch my eyelids, and drag them shut like the drapes of my mind. |
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danaanthegreat's journal
aggravated
hopeful
Acceptably numb.
eh....@#$% happens.
Hopeful....!!!
No....not angry. Mangry.