It was about 5 a.m. and I was in bed. Had just fallen asleep, right about when the time to wake up was coming around the corner to bit me in the ass. Now, don’t get me wrong, I went to bed at 11, I figured I’d try to get some rest into this sleep deprived body I lug around all day, but I didn’t actually get to sleep until around 4. I’ve always hated night. When you’re a little kid it’s a time to be afraid of monsters, when you hit high school it’s a time to realize how lonely and pathetic you are because you’re sitting alone, and then it’s the time when you really become afraid of monsters. These monsters aren’t hairy. Or slimy. Or covered in scales. These monsters are thoughts. Yeah, thoughts. And those monsters of thoughts hit the hardest at night. When you’re in bed. When there’s nothing but you trying to get on a boat called Sleep in a cotton sea called your bed sheets. Thoughts. I’ve always hated thoughts. I just wish I could turn off my mind so I could finally live without always being completely controlled by it.
So anyway it was about 5 a.m. First it was the sound of vibration against wood. Then the ringing. Stupid polyphonic ringing. I leaned over, ripped the room from the charger, and flung it across the room. I always kept my phone on. Always. Just in case someone decided to call and for at least a minute take me out of my loneliness. People rarely called though. Well I guess an open door has more of chance or someone coming in it than a closed one. Right? But someone just had to decide to come in at 5 a.m. I didn’t bother picking up the phone and seeing who had called. It was too far away anyway. I never really understood why I liked to throw things when I was mad. I guess I had to hurt something, so might as well make it something inanimate instead myself. Or someone else.
So I got out of bed. The floor was cold. It stung against my bare feet but soon they became as cold as the floor they were standing on. I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I’m not really sure why I did, I just kind of always did. I liked to look at myself in the mirror. I liked to look at my flaws and laugh at them, and I liked to look into my own eyes and ask, “Who the hell are you?” I looked over my face and my body. What do I look like? I’m not going to tell you. I’ll let you imagine that for yourself. Oh yeah, and my name? I’ll leave that one up to you too.
