I Don 't Remember Waking Up

I remember falling asleep, but I don’t remember being in a bed. I had fallen asleep in the hall due to my emotional state. My body didn’t need the sleep. My mind did. I’m actually happy I did. It got my mind off all my problems and sorrows for a good while. I sit up, pushing the unfamiliar blankets off my body. I’m in a strange hard bed in a foreign room. Everything around me feels new and alien. This isn’t my dull little prison. This room is slightly decorated with light brown walls and a dresser covered with random things.

“What did you say?” I mutter to him because of how loud he is being.

I stretch, wincing as my muscles tighten in pain. “I’ve been better.” I pause and dare to ask some unanswered questions. “How long ago was the Demon Serum dumped into the north water

He suddenly coughs, jerking up and a sigh of relief passes my lips. “I’m good,” he coughs, as his blood drips down his face.

“Can you not walk…?” He looks at me, unable to move, then crouches down with his back facing me.

Denny O’Callaghan woke to see bloodstains on his pillow, his bedsheets. He closed his eyes, groaned and rolled over. Maybe, he figured, he could fall back asleep. Blot out of his mind what he’d just seen. But the back of his head throbbed. He touched it and felt a bump the size of an egg, and his hair was sticky and matted there. His throat was so dry. He coughed. Blurry memories, specters nearly, from the night before flitted about in his mind’s eye. Vaguely shifting images. Incomplete. He’d been drinking tequila shots with the guys from the firehouse. Yelling. And then—nothing. He hoped if he kept his eyes closed long enough, maybe it would all go away.

I woke up feeling very rustled, as I tore off my bed sheets. I could still feel the residue from last night’s fap; the white stuff that was binding me to my previous life, reminding me of the horrible mistakes I’ve made in the past.

"Jake?" I whispered. "You in here?" Everything was silent, the only thing I heard was Joel yelling. I then heard a voice but it wasn't very

My eyes shoot open. Is it here. What is it doing here. I look around. I see the jet black ceiling above me. My palms and forehead are dripping with sweat. It’s just a dream, I was just dreaming. I tell myself. Once I find my bearings, I look at my digital clock. The blue dashes on the gray and white clock say that it’s 2:37 in the morning. I had the dream again. My chest is aching. I lay on my side staring at the light that is emitted from the lamp. After a short time, I sigh and roll over back into my warm and soft camo covered comforter. It’s too early to get up. I think to myself.

I threw back my comforter and slowly rose out of my bed. The sun wasn’t even up yet; it felt like an injustice to be wasting these precious hours that I could be asleep to be getting ready to go to the doctor. Stumbling towards the bathroom, I brushed my

“It’s okay, take your time” Daniel says while grabbing my hand for some insurance that it's going to be ok.

I wake up in a dark room, much alike my own, I suppose. I am facing the brown door. I am awfully stiff, and this bed no longer feels comfy, infact, this bed turns out to not be a bed, but hard crumbly pavement that used to be my brown carpet. I groan and lift my head, having my arms support me. The only

I woke up from my slumber in a darkened haze. My hands clutched empty bed sheets, making me jolt upright in a sudden memorization that I didn't fall asleep in my room. In fact, I fell asleep on the couch in the living room if I remembered correctly.

My eye catches a light emitting blinding flashes from the depths of the place, cutting through that stagnant black. I drift toward it, entranced. The static rises as I draw nearer and nearer, as if the hair of the room itself sharpens and stiffens, up on edge like the tips of fingers brushed down an unsuspecting spine.

Feeling dizzy and mildly disorientated, I push off from the wall, tapping into a distinct, burning well of willpower that sits inside my chest, a psychological centre of gravity, in order to not collapse where I stood. My limbs burn. This is involuntary. Probably trauma, I reasoned a long time ago. Probably a mental trigger. That doesn’t stop me from feeling frustrated, smolderingly exasperated, a tearing feeling that makes my jaw twitch and my hands cry out for blood, that there is a switch in my mind that I cannot control.