It was the cold water splashing over John’s face that finally brought him to full consciousness, which made him realize he had been having some sort of bad dream. He sputtered himself awake, only to realize that he was not lying in bed, but rather at the sink in the bathroom. He did not remember getting out of bed, and thought it odd that he had been the one to splash water in his face to wake him up while he was dreaming.

He blinked a few times, looking in the mirror at himself, his bleary eyes taking a few moments to focus in the sudden light as he flipped the light on. It took awhile for the rods and cones in his eyes to adjust to the abrupt illumination; his hazel eyes clinching shut as the pain of it lanced through his head. John opened his eyes after a few moments, still having a slightly hazed vision as his eyes continued to fine-tune themselves to the light. Once his vision cleared sufficiently he took another gander at himself in the mirror and gave a sight.

It was the third night in a row that nightmares had awakened him in the middle of the night, and it showed clearly in his eyes, which were visibly bloodshot. Also, his brown locks were disheveled from his tossing, and damp from the water he had splashed on his own face. Stumbling about in a fog that had yet to lift from the ruined sleep, he managed to stagger his way into some sweat pants and a tee-shirt, then made his way down the stairs, his hand running through his hair to give it some semblance of order.

Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out the milk and poured a glass, sighing as he lifted it to his lips and took a long pull from it. Only to end up gagging on the curdled milk, dropping the cup. The sound of it shattering on the linoleum floor causing him to jump to full awareness.

He muttered and stepped back away from the mess, his foot landing on an errant shard that had slipped behind him. Howling out in a mixture of pain and surprise, he almost instinctively moved forward, but he reversed himself because he knew the majority of the fragments were that way. Having his balance completely twisted about, and hopping on one foot due to the scrap of glass did not help his situation all too much. He was flailing his arms about by this point, but to no avail. He ended up lurching backwards a bit too far and his one foot went from beneath him, his breath leaving him in “OOF!” as he landed on his back.

“GODDAMNEDMOTHERFUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT!” His voice echoed in the empty kitchen, his words repeating themselves once or twice in his ears. He hobbled his way to one foot again and hoisted himself onto the counter. Digging as best he could with his fingers he extracted the portion of glass, tossing it into the sink. It bounced with a series of clinks before falling down the drain and into the oblivion waiting there.

He wrapped his foot in a series of paper-towels as best as he could, and was glad that he no longer lived with his parents. First, he never would have been able to have the outburst that just left his lips, and he would be in quite the conundrum at this moment. He remembered his parents’ house well, and how everything was white. Not only was it ass ugly, but also as he trudged up the stairs now, he would have had to worry about the blood that was seeping inevitably through the paper-towels to leave small stains on the carpet.

It never would have come out of the white carpet at his dad’s house, and he would have never lived those smudges on the supposed perfection down. His place, though, was already dirty from years of use from the family that had lived here before him.

Finally he made it to the master bathroom where the escapade had started with his fun with the water. He dug through the cabinets, searching for the care package that his mother had given him. Tearing it open, he blinked at the note that was waiting there for him.

I wonder how long it has actually taken you to need this package. Everything that you could need is in here. Hydrogen Peroxide, Band-Aids, gauze, ace bandages, painkillers, the works. Remember, mom loves ya!!
P.S.: The expiration dates may be a few years off, but don’t worry. This stuff never goes bad!!

That brought a smile to his face as he thought of his mother. Nothing ever went bad, unless it was food and even then, it had to have a rotten stench to it. But medicine? As long as there was some left in the bottle, enough for one last dose, it never went bad. The expiration dates on the bottles are nonsense he could hear his mother saying in his head.

John made use of them, though, and made plans to restock it with stuff that was not from ages ago. He also included milk and other assortments of groceries on his mental list, chiding himself for having let that go for so long.

He chuckled knowing he would not be in this position if he had taken care of it earlier, which was the story of his life: a day late, a dollar short, and a fridge of spoiled food. Though had he taken care of it earlier, something else would have gone wrong, which was the theme to the story of his life.

He sat upon the counter in the bathroom and took another look in the mirror, sighing at the gaunt reflection that was looking back at him. The dream of the past three nights was haunting him more than it should have, making him feel as if he were not sleeping at all. People had started to notice the exhausted look that seemed to be his companion lately, and had started to comment in concern.

He had played it off like it was nothing, and it had been nothing until tonight. He did not know why, but the dream was sticking with him more and more each time it came to him. At this moment, minutes after awakening, he could still make out a few details of the dream, but nothing too vivid. Compared to the first night, though, it was crystal clear. The only thing he had had left over that night was the twisted urge of despair. Tonight there were images that went with it, but he did not even want to think of those.

To do so, he feared would bring back the feelings he was at war with to keep shoved away from his mind. He wanted to live life, not fearful of a dream he had, that he could not even explain to anyone. There was nothing there for him to explain.

With a sigh he stepped back to his room and was about to shed the few clothes he had put on just for the tradition of modesty and crawled back into bed. He noticed first, though, a spider crawling its way along the wall near his headboard. Without much of a thought, he reached over and grabbed a book and smashed the spider. He cleaned it off on a tissue and disposed of it in the trash. A glance at the clock showed him he had to be up in a matter of a couple hours at best, and he started to grumble as he continued on his path to slumber.

Sleep came quickly, which was a surprise to him. As his mind was fading off to the chaotic void that were his dreams, a fond saying of his mother came back to him.

Killing a spider is nothing but bad luck!

::September 1, 2003 12:06 AM

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