FICTION
Reality 101
Writer character, upfront and out loud
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Day 0
The alarm sounds in the distance. Reaching… I am able to shut it down.
I feel numb and outside of my body, as if it is a vessel within my control, but not my dwelling. I tremble to sit upright on the bed's edge, and struggle to know what day it is. The room is familiar but feels like a vacation place.
Conscious but unable to shake the sleep that hangs on me like a canvas coat, separating me from the world I am trying to reach. I have not had a drop but expect to find empty fifths strewn about like ornaments.
I am amazed I can walk. Resting my palm on the bedpost, I shuffle to the table where my cell phone sits. My walk is stiff and mechanical, like a toddler on an adventure in the dark.
I can’t remember my move from the table, yet I have full view of the stairs and the first floor.
I experienced this scene a million times while watching old detective films and reading it in mystery books, but never felt this firsthand before. Leaning against the railing, I pour myself down the stairs, making it to the first landing. In film, this would be where the MC blacks out, tumbling to the floor, but I’m not that lucky. Holding the railing like a ripcord of a silk parachute, I gingerly step down each cloud until my feet land on solid ground.
The moonlight is peaking through the kitchen window as I gather my bearings. My body feels like it’s been slipped a mickey, but my brain knows better. My clothes, razor, shower, and the dog I have to walk outside are on the floor above. A realization after the fact of residence within the first-floor powder room.
Damn, this is going to be a long day. I fill the sink with cold water and ice cubes. Submerge my face, hold my breath until I feel the sting on my skin, then rise to catch my reflection in the mirror. I look like a weekend bender; down on my luck, a lost soul.
Unsure if awake or dreaming, I used the bathroom facilities, hoping I made the right call. Then wash my hands and dry them. Grab my hat and coat, slip on the nearest pair of shoes, and head back to the stairs.
Either way, I feel like just another Joe in any house on this side of reality. In just another day of life. Hoping things turn out OK.
I look up the staircase and wonder how the hell I will make it.
If a dream, I wish to wake.
