Today began like any other day,
Laying on the couch, my eyelids flick open and are welcomed by blinding morning light. A little worse than usual, bright summer day, I guess, I think to myself, great...
The rays coming in through the window create a curtain through my dusty living room; as I stumble through them they swirl, parting only reluctantly to join each other again, the twinkling particles dancing around like Kodama in the treetops.
I eat because I have to, not because I want to, just like everybody else in the morning. Followed by that is the normal morning routine. Boring and usual.
I step outside and start my day. Sunny, as expected, a bird chirps in a bush next to me and I yawn. On the way to meet some friends I pass an old acquaintance from highschool on the street. Not somebody I was particularly fond of, good thing they didn't even seem to notice or recognize me.
Arriving at the centre I find my friends. We decide to take the day in at the lake,
and as we walk along towards the beach and start to cross the pier I glance down at the water. For what seemed like a full minute all noise is drowned out and my head feels like it's full of cotton. The water here seemed too pure, completely azure blue sparkling in the sunshine. Breeze on my cheek, I get a sick feeling in my stomach as the edge of the water approaches. Mumbling that I have to go find a restroom I leave my friends and they keep walking across.
Every step I take away from the water seems to empty my head, until the comparison between to two leaves me with a sense of such freedom and childlike wonder, I can't contain myself. I run as fast as I can through the street away from the water with my arms spread out like a birds wings in flight. Like a bird myself I soar and feel the wind through my hair. Doesn't feel like anything could go wrong today, like the world is open for possibilities.
Something of course sensed this in me and decided to show me otherwise, I suppose. As I "flew" through the street the tall buildings next to me suddenly gained sentience and peered down at me. I gawked up at them in disbelief as they started to produce tentacle arms, growing out from them in odd places and stretching outward. They are oily and brackish, dripping big balls of their mucus onto the street next to me as one narrowly misses. It hisses on the pavement. They dont move, and neither do I. They creak and moan as the wood they were once confined to snaps and breaks, time stops.
Wake up!
And I run.
They swerve towards me throwing those arms loosely like strings of snot in the air, hovering in the places which I had just been like a lover that misses the one they love. I run under onramps and downramps, through streets and alleyways, never looking back save for once, in which the gooey mucks were still on my heels.
Panting, I reach my house and throw myself inside slamming the door behind me. I glance around barely able to comprehend what I had just witnessed, and I notice nothing is the same as when I left. Out of the corners of my eyes I can sense shadows moving like cockroaches, leaving the light as if the light were my eyes.
I haphazardly steer myself towards the center of the room to investigate, slowly, gasping, eyes bulging. As I reach the couch the carpet seeps up from my floor and I find my feet are stuck in the mess. I try to free myself, desperately my mind tries to grasp this nonsense. Struggling helplessly against my own damned carpet, the window shatters next to me, glass flying, sparkling, azure, twinkling.
Arms reach around my neck and pull me onto the dusty couch. Strong, they are, slimy, thin, and black they pull the air from my lungs. I lay there, helpless to this thing, wondering what my life has become, the things I did today, What I might do tomorrow. My eyelids close, as I drift away into dreamland my head is heavy, I am tired, my body hibernates, and I am at peace. restful.
Today ended like any other day.
for a bit...i thought it was a real story. it could be actually. you would just need to write it a bit different. it would make an interesting opening to a story..with the melting tentacled buildings.
i like the way you write..very...easy to read..yet still a work of art on its own
anyways. nice short. said you wish you could do more often, so why don't you? seem fairly good at it.
not that you need any more talents. quite frankly it's getting annoying.
well, nothing wrong with only enjoying it every once in awhile, if doing it more often means doing it just because whether i feel like it really or not