An In-Between (#001)

Sitting.  Checking posture.  Closing eyes.  Still typing.  Open eyes to post music.

Sitting.  Checking posture.  Closing eyes.  Still typing. 

This song, “Youth” by Daughter, downloaded for free months ago, and clicking the Free button in the iTunes store was an impulsive one.  How brave is that–downloading a song without previewing it.  It can just as easily be deleted; it takes more time to download than it is to delete–a quick click of a button, a quick snap of the fingers while the other hand cracks a knuckle.  This is some more tolerable music for my readers who cringe before playing the music (you’ll never know what genre will play out).

Checking posture again.  Eyes are still closed.  Sitting.  Still typing.

My head is up and… my neck… my shoulders are out… my back is long and… on my sit bones… my knees are forward… my feet, resting upon the ground…

Breathe in.  Focus on the diaphragm.  Breathe out.  Repeat.

O-kay. Wait.

*     *     *

Wait.  Let’s get a word (or two) of inspiration for the purpose of all of this:

Fire Escape

(Penny just said this on the Time Machine episode of The Big Bang Theory)

Okay.  Good to go.  Now.

*     *     *

Breathe in.  Focus on the diaphragm.  Breathe out.  Repeat.

My head is up and… my neck… my shoulders are out… my back is long and… on my sit bones… my knees are forward… my feet, resting upon the ground…

Sitting.  Checking posture.  Closing eyes.  Continue typing.

Breathe in.  Focus on the diaphragm.  Breathe out.  Repeat.

O-Kay.

Walking around, walking around, and this is no longer a storage area.

image

This is no longer a safe zone.  Spikes could rise up through the ground, and anvils could fall from the sky.  Putting yourself in the wrong area, standing in the wrong space could lead to your turning into a bloody human pancake.  Splat!  Sputtering bubbles emerge from the remaining air left in your veins’ releasing the excess tension.  Some of those blood bubbles brand buoyancy and float–a macabre spectacle at an imp’s third birthday party–but it doesn’t take away from playing paintball with crimson ammo–bullets for that matter, but, however, we’re not that messed up.

No.  We’re not.  This is a bedroom.  Being in bed is protection, especially with covers.  Like any quality video game, let’s break out the 8-bit Nintendo classic The Legend of Zelda, you have to pay for one upping your item list.  This includes shields.  The better blankets you have, the better protection you have–plain and simple.  Down comforter will do you much better than your standard sheet.  What you have on your bed depends on your economic background and your geographic location.  Let’s not forget thread count, because quality still matters.

Sorry kids, some of you will get left behind–as shitty as that is (the truth is the truth, because this is reality, and reality hurts)–as monster meat, skewered by skeletons and placed over an open flame with other unfortunate people, spaced out every-other by veggies (because skeletons are omnivores, too).  This is a world where privilege can determine such fates.  These bed covers will protect you from the creatures that dwell and wait under the bed and the translucent, tentacled monsters that reside in your closets, wading in the abyss that the darkened corners provide.

All this is true until daylight comes or you can get to the lamp light in a timely fashion.  This is not guaranteed.  Like quality, the bulbs matter as well.  LED is better than your standard bulb, but any energy saver bulb falls will suffice (especially those curlicues or twisty bulbs).  Flashlights?  There is no point in using those.  The quicker you flip that switch, you’ll get to see a show of exposed monster turning to dust.  Poof!  It’s amazing, but it gives you more dust to vacuüm up.

Now you know where that extra dust comes from, because you can’t shed skin that quickly.  This is especially true for oscillating ceiling fans (another place where monsters hang out, because the element of surprise is never boring).

Let’s say, to keep this whole experiment going (and, partially, since we always have to root for heroics), the lamp next to the bed is perfect for lighting the room on fire.  Whatever evil is lurking in the armpits of darkness within the bedroom are put to sleep and restrained, which is similar to Mario playing that out-of-tune lute.

[Wait.  Is this the author talking, or is it the character?  Could it be both?]

To the right is the window, and a bed sheet rope hangs out of it.  Convenience?  Who put that there?

There is a glass (half-filled with water) on the nightstand.  The desk, which sits to the left side of the bed, holds up a wine glass, containing a third of red.  Upon the desk is a wallet.  (Take it.  Pocket it.)  A small bag hangs from the chair.  (Take it.)  A copy of Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises.  (Put it in the bag.)  A pad.  (Bag it.)  Pens.  (Bag them.)  The long drawer is opened, and a letter opener, a pair of scissors, and–

There’s soft scratching at the door.  (Ignore it.)  Throw on some clean clothes.  Open the closet, and look below to find a canteen, which is teetering on the edge of a shadow, and you use your foot to drag it over to you.  Taking the water glass, the liquid is used to fill the canteen; the remaining water is consumed.  The wine is consumed, and since the drink had been basking in the room temperature for who knows how long, the residual wine coat slowly slides down the wall of the glass like sludge.  You tell yourself that drinking the wine probably wasn’t the best idea, and hopefully it won’t kill you.

The scratching upon the door has grown intensely louder and more prominent.  So that brings up the decision to:

Go through the door?  Go out the window?

You’d be stupid to go out the window through the door.  That would be flirting with imminent death.  You’d be dragged, clawed, chewed, and sent through the ringer of a gauntlet of dread.  Think of a rodent being torn apart by a vigilant cat.

Of course, the window would be a better option.  Looking out into the cozy neighborhood, nothings seems to be off.  It’s dark, but daylight should be arriving soon (if that’s what you’re concerned about).  Opening the window up, you scale down the side of the house to the city street below.

[What?]

[Oh, just go with it.]

You dust yourself off and begin to walk when your foot strikes something:  a lighter.  Setting the bed sheet rope on fire, you watch it burn all the way up until the fire fizzles out to the sound of a few peeps–a lousy firework if you care to ask.  While pocketing the lighter, it is figured that this may come into good use at a later time.

There is nothing strange with the cityscape, but it’s still early.  Passing people with blank faces, caring not to stare, your eyes focus and watch the storefronts as you pass by.  The doors and windows appear two-dimensional as if they are painted on the sides of the buildings.  You keep walking until you run into the first person with a face.  You recognize them and a wave of relief calms your body.

Do you go with them?

YES                                                    NO

(Circle One)

[To be continued…]

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