Wake Up

"Thump. Thump."

A pair of notes. One echoing the other, tentative, the way a child imitated his mother, lacking the confidence to quite match her.

"Thump. Thump ... Thump. Thump ..."

Engulfed in darkness, the beating plays on, oblivious.

"Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump"

The beating grows faster, then faster still. The thuds come now twice as quickly as before, the space between them shrinks until suddenly its presence is filled instead by another tune; a sound that pierces and laces its way into the first.

A shrill ringing can be heard: the first droplet of a cold rain -- heavy notes, then lighter, heavy, light, heavy, fighting on until their edges soften, begin losing structure, and start to blur. The sounds continue this dance until the two flow together and become one harmony.

“Wake Up”

Sleep’s grip loosens. The beating of the heart becomes the clamor of an old alarm clock, its brass hand running back and forth, slamming hard into heavy bells in tune with his chest, now racing.

He feels his legs falling, and tearing with them his head from its seat on the pillow. Subsequently he feels an exchange of warmth -- from that of his down pillow -- to the briskness of the morning air. His eyes, from their perch high above the floor watch as his feet get comfortable in their new home: a pair of brown wool slippers, placed so thoughtfully at the side of the bed.

He shivers -- and like a drop of dye in a glass of water this feeling begins meandering, spreading, and pushing, filling every orifice of his body. A grate in the ceiling silently dumps outside air into the already cold apartment. It kisses the small of his back and waltzes up his spine, stopping only to arouse the tiny hairs on the soft mounds left above each vertebra. This is where its steady flow ends sharply -- at the base of his skull, leaving in its wake a column of hairs standing in reverence.