At first glance it was just another day. I was so upset. The glare of morning brilliance peering through my shades sting my pupils. My eyes dilate as the dresser across my room comes clear into picture. I ignore the impending obligation to get out from my warm, sheltering bed. I just stared ahead at my gray walls reflecting the gloomy ambiance of the clouded sky through my window. It was foggy outside. I wanted it to stay away. I closed my eyes again, “I’ll just sleep,” I concluded, but my eyes were split open again when the gray, gloomy walls told me “Get up!”
I stayed lying, clutching my covers tighter, forcing my head into my pillow, trying to avoid the insatiable demand picking at the peeling corners of mind. I squeeze my eyes shut until I feel a thick, forceful hand wrap around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides, it tore me out from my bed. Protruding from my wall, the stocky caricature placed me on the ground. I looked back at it, perplexed and feeling slightly violated, but mostly stubborn. I took a step towards my bed, but the hand pulled my hair, julting my head and then entire body backwards. I turn to the wall, the one arm has become two, and they’re crossed, who knew something without a face or body could give such an attitude. I heard it again, “Get. Up.”
I was up, standing on my own two feet. I’ve done enough, I’m tired, I’m beat, broken, you win. Every nagging pessimistic concern, every sad, unnerving song, every piece of overwhelming, demoralizing news, you win. I’m going to go back to sleep.
I pick up my blanket and slide back underneath, within the comfort and safety of its warm embrace. Though the warmth dissipated as a wave of cool air crashed upon my body, the chill sent a shock up my spine as I jolted to sit up, I looked around my room in dismay. I could no longer see my dresser or even the wall right next to me, a thick, cold fog danced around my head. Trapped inside of a cloud, it was trying to carry me away. I swatted my arms around attempting to clear the space in front of me, but as I’d begun to view the paisley pattern of my comforter the space was immediately refilled with fog to where the white hue completely enveloped my sight. I slid off my bed and felt for my door, I turned the handle and rushed into the hallway, I thought I was out. Then the cool whisper of the smog tickled at the back of my neck, crawling over my shoulders and creeping around my waist. I felt stuck, trapped, it was going to pull me back in, drown me in a damp, colorless abyss. So ripped my arms away and began to run.
I bolted through the hall, pushed off the wall to turn toward the stairs, the fog was right behind me, grasping at my legs, reaching for the trailing pieces of my hair. I could feel the cool air rushing toward me, getting colder. I ran down the stairs barely managing my footing, I spun around the banister and the front door came into view. The fog flooded the downstairs, I extended my arm towards the doorknob when my hand went right through and as I continued to step forward I found myself on the other side of the door, staring at the outside of my house.
There were no cars on the street, no birds in the trees, not even the sun shone through the lighter, but still prominent layer of fog consuming the street. The droplets of mist dampened my hair and weighed down my clothes, it was no longer chasing me, but mocking my effort to escape.
Nowhere to go, not knowing what to do, I cried out in confusion “WHERE ARE YOU!” Gasping on the broken surface of a forgotten road, I looked back at my home to see the large, stocky hand quickly reaching out of the cement walls of my house. The same hand that was in my room, it came at me from the right, and began to swing across the left. I shut my eyes in anticipation of the burning slap approaching me, combating my despair.
Then my eyes opened again. I was back in my room, under my covers, my head resting on my pillow. The walls of my room, shaded with the tint of reality. They told me, “Get up.”
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