jjay

The heat woke him up. Another shitty nights sleep, he mumbled groggily in his head. He rolled over slowly and smacked his lips. They were cracked and dry. His eyes still felt heavy but he opened them anyway, fighting off the sleep. No dreams again, it had seemed like forever. He could not even remember the events of his last dive into the stream of unconscious. One this morning would be a surprise. His head ached. The effects of cheap whiskey once again clouded the events of the night before. Was it all a dream? Pictures floated in and out of his head, blurbs of information. He had time traveled again; it was no use trying to remember. Most of it was lost, carried away by consumption, an awful trick, which he fell for every time. It was always hardest to breath in the mornings. This one was no different. His chest and throat were filled with the result of too much smoke and he coughed violently but still the ball stood still. It did not want to play his game. Slowly his nostrils filled with sticky thick fluid. Every morning, he thought to himself. He reached off the bed for something; anything to which relieve the mounting pressure, which grew within his nose and throat. A dirty shirt from the floor was slowly raised to his face and he blew than coughed sadistically, trying to clear his throat. His head pounded back against his skull. He held his breath for a second. Why? he asked himself. Why do I do it? He glanced at the red numbers glowing from the alarm clock it read 6:59. He had less than a minute before the alarm would wail out, scratching his eardrum. Fuckin, shit! he mumbled to himself. He rolled over and pushed himself up tenderly. Blood rushed down from his head and filled his throat and than his stomach. A wave of nausea ripped through his body and he jumped out of bed as quick as his body would allow. He threw his head into the porcelain hole and heaved. It was warm and bitter. His throat burned and his nostrils flared. He felt better, he could now breath. Suddenly the alarm came alive screeching unbearably from within his room. The little knives of sound cut him from his thoughts. He lifted his head from the toilet and looked around. Good morning! he yelled out and began to laugh.