All tagged story

"WAKING" Prose by Gabriel Thomas

I woke to the phone screaming at six am. I slapped the fucker off and returned to slumber. Then, not long later, massive trucks moved in on me. Their gargantuan engines, their exhausts shaking the world. It was like some type of demonic sub woofer blasting from inside a cave in the furthest depths of hell. And then, all that noise rising, Rising, RISING, in bandshell uniformity, coming up and entering this world right under my bed, jolting me awake a second time. 

The beast machines soon past and I was able to sleep again in short order. Then the sun got its shit together. Got it goin’ good. The sun decided to radiate my bedroom like a microwave oven. 

I threw the covers off and lay in sticky sweat; so I set a box fan on high and blared it over me. The rushing hum drawing me out of this world and toward the nether one. And in that burrrrrr, that rushing wind, my mind felt relief. There was peace in that air. There was love and the world was a good place. I drifted back down. I drifted back down then my girl moved into me. She moved into me with her cuddliness and her HEAT, and my mind was buoyed up from the depths. 

Patience is not my virtue. Images of fires and explosions and shopping malls at Christmas entered my mind. I calmed myself. Somehow, I calmed myself. I knew my girl meant no harm in what she was doing. So I laid there. I laid and took the heat of the sun and of her body, and I took her love with it, and I sweated through. I endured, and even though my comfort was less, my mind numbed in the heat. I was soon going back down, back to peace, back to oblivion, and as soon as I reached that distant sanctuary, my girl moved. 

She moved her hand on my belly, grabbing a pinch on my fat, waking me out of it. In furry, I grabbed her hand and threw it away from me like it was an empty beer can. There was no thought in the action. It was like slapping a bug away. 

My girl moved more then, rising from the bed, and next, I could hear her stomping around the apartment. Then I couldn’t hear her anymore. I was going down further. Down further and further, past dreams, past anything, maybe to death. I slept for an hour. One perfect hour. 

When I woke, my girl was not in a good mood. She was riled and wrathful and too much time had passed for me to change any of it. 

Some days, you just can’t win.  

"WAKING" Prose by Gabriel Thomas