The Nightmare

(1. Oct. 30th Thursday Night)

"Xander!" The stern look of my supervisor, the first thing I see waking up at the office. "We can't have you falling asleep." Still groggy from my dreams, I wasn't able to respond fast enough, irritating her even further. "Don't do it again." The reprimanding swift in delivery, left a cold blanket on my back. 'I'll be having a meeting by the end of the week, I'm sure of it.' I rubbed my eyes and forced myself to straighten up. A few coworkers silently laughing like children in school. Continuing my gaze at the screen, yet to turn on my computer, even though half the day has gone by. Ticking of keys on boards danced away through the last half of the day. I didn't notice it was time to leave, until the night custodian greeted me with a disturbed grunt. I scooted out from the desk. Not having to boot down my already off computer, I headed home. 

The walk to the apartment was pleasant, fall branching into winter. Crisp breezes swept past me, as I trekked the sidewalk. The same path I take every night. Most walks I would contemplate what to make for dinner, or just rethink over work. In the haze of sleep, drip, drip, drip. Each drop left from previous showers, singular in their own, splashing amongst others into a puddle. This rhythmic pattern caused me to daze in and out of step. My path no longer the one I knew so well, now leading me through the jungle of concrete. Each building loomed over me, mocking in their stature. Mixing into my dreams as deviant gods, playing with dolls.

Crashing of a can slipped me out of my walking dream, my head landing against the sidewalk. I gasped on impact, reality quickly coming back to me in the face. The can had impeded my path, and now I lay here, head hurting. I sat myself up, rubbing fingers on the blood now trickling down my face. It didn't hurt as bad, more of an annoyance. Collecting myself, I looked for spots that were clean of litter to push myself off the ground. My hand almost slipping in garbage sludge. Standing I had a view of the scene, I must have knocked over the can causing it to spill. 'Makes sense.' I noticed, just under a few crumbled newspapers, a book peeking out at me. I pushed aside the paper headlining the new Ryder Wens column and grabbed the hardback. I pulled it closer to my eyes to inspect it closely. Though it was hard covered, the feeling was velvet, or feathers. Opening the cover, I could tell the pages were older like that of parchment, nimbly woven together. "Curious." The word slipped past my lips to note the emptiness of the book. "Why throw it away?" The writer side of me couldn't let the book be tossed in the trash. I adored the binding and craftsmanship of the literature piece. Tucking the book under my arm, I headed on the right path home.

"I'm home." I called into the apartment, certain to hear a response, nothing. "She must've gone out." I noted my roommate's absence. Emptying my pockets onto the coffee table, I sat down on the couch, to sift through the pages of the book. Studying it in more detail, some sort of clue as to who's it was. "No watermark of copyright date, was it homemade?" Thinking aloud as I flip through the pages. "If it was store bought it would have some sort…" A page side slipped into my finger, cutting in and letting blood drip out. "Damn it." I couldn't help, but be upset. Two bright crimson blotches now drying onto an unlucky page.

I set the book down to tend to my fresh cuts, remembering the one on my forehead. Seeing it in the bathroom mirror, crusted blood trailing between my deep blue eyes. After washing up, I decided it was a long day, and sleep would be nice. 'Though I slept most the day away.'

It was good I got my needed sleep at work, the night was not so welcoming. Images flashing before me, I could only make out a few. Fire, some sort of riot was the cause. People lashing out at each other, shouting and cursing. I wanted to cry out, to yell for them to stop. When I opened my mouth, I no longer stood amongst them. I sat at my desk, and the words I so longed to voice became jumbled vowels of nonsense. On the desk laid open my new-found book, full of unknown words. Glyphs of a culture I have never heard of. Before I could get a good focus on the writing, I heard a snarl. Warmth on my face caused me to look up. The only thing I could do was scream.