Ksndr26
May 26th, 2012, 06:55 PM
Thoughts blur in my mind as I think back to what happened last night. I can’t distinguish reality
from fiction, my dreams from my time spent lying awake. The hammer is all I know as I wrap my
fingers around its cool handle, having only brief bits and flashes of memories of how it came to
be in my hand. I’ve only just woken up moments ago, my room is silent. The old radio clock in the
corner flashes a red 6:03, which means I’ve only slept for three hours.
I’m dazed and confused, I recall the phone ringing, heavy breathing and a mans voice, the ticking
of a clock.. But in this room, there is no clock that ticks, there is no phone that rings, and there
is no stranger. Or is there? The room is dark, its too early for sun to begin seeping its way through
the blinds, and my paranoia creeps up on me the moment the thought pops into my head.
I squint into the darkness, searching for what obviously isn’t there, and then an image comes to
me of a set of heavily lashed green eyes, staring accusingly into my own, then the image shatters,
as though it were glass, and everything is dark. It’s a memory, of course. The color is too vibrant
to be something I see in this blackened room. I quickly jump out of bed, hammer still in my hand,
and vault to the light switch. In my hurry, my hand clumsily brushes what should be the mirror,
and though I don’t register it right away, something feels off about it.
As I switch on the lights my gaze flickers directly to the mirror, only there is no reflection. In its
place is a rectangular wooden frame, and a grey backdrop where the glass laid. The floor is
covered with shards. I set the hammer on the floor as I bend down to pick up the pieces, and as
I stare at the small triangular pieces I catch a glimpse of the same green eyes I’ve worked so hard
to convince myself were a dream.
from fiction, my dreams from my time spent lying awake. The hammer is all I know as I wrap my
fingers around its cool handle, having only brief bits and flashes of memories of how it came to
be in my hand. I’ve only just woken up moments ago, my room is silent. The old radio clock in the
corner flashes a red 6:03, which means I’ve only slept for three hours.
I’m dazed and confused, I recall the phone ringing, heavy breathing and a mans voice, the ticking
of a clock.. But in this room, there is no clock that ticks, there is no phone that rings, and there
is no stranger. Or is there? The room is dark, its too early for sun to begin seeping its way through
the blinds, and my paranoia creeps up on me the moment the thought pops into my head.
I squint into the darkness, searching for what obviously isn’t there, and then an image comes to
me of a set of heavily lashed green eyes, staring accusingly into my own, then the image shatters,
as though it were glass, and everything is dark. It’s a memory, of course. The color is too vibrant
to be something I see in this blackened room. I quickly jump out of bed, hammer still in my hand,
and vault to the light switch. In my hurry, my hand clumsily brushes what should be the mirror,
and though I don’t register it right away, something feels off about it.
As I switch on the lights my gaze flickers directly to the mirror, only there is no reflection. In its
place is a rectangular wooden frame, and a grey backdrop where the glass laid. The floor is
covered with shards. I set the hammer on the floor as I bend down to pick up the pieces, and as
I stare at the small triangular pieces I catch a glimpse of the same green eyes I’ve worked so hard
to convince myself were a dream.