I hit the alarm clock. To be more accurate, I sleepily knock the clock off the shelf. Sometimes I wish I was in a cartoon, so I could randomly pull an insane-looking sledgehammer out of nowhere and smash the damn thing and it wouldn’t matter because I’d have a closet full of replacements. Because, for some reason, cartoon characters buy in bulk from Costco. How resourceful for talking animals who repeatedly try to kill and/or eat each other. That’s just good, quality children’s entertainment.
Oh boy, I must still be sleepy to be going on a random tangent about cartoons this early. I can’t help it though. The dream I had last night is still kind of lingering at the edge of my memory. Something about a weird (yet extremely comfortable) black couch and setting it on fire or something. In fact, setting it on fire multiple times in multiple locations. At one point, I believe somebody had their way with the cushions? Very weird and very specific.
I sit up in bed and climb down the ladder to the floor. Buying a bunk bed for myself seemed funny at the time. Now it’s just a hassle. Why don’t I sleep on the bottom bed? Because that’s where put the inflatable kiddie pool…don’t ask.
I head to the bathroom to wash what passes for my body and make myself presentable to the world. My secret? I bathe in ostrich milk. It’s really expensive and hard to acquire. Ostriches aren’t mammals. You do the math.
Once cleaned and dressed, I headed my living room to check out the news on the tv. I plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. After a few minutes I was so relaxed and comfortable that I started to become drowsy. The next thing I knew the tv screen was blurry and my head kept bobbing as I nodded off. My last thought, before I dozed off was that I don’t own a couch. Certainly not one this comfortab…
I hit the alarm clock. I turn over in bed to face the ceiling. That’s where I keep all my posters of Chaning Tatum. His abs comfort me.
What the hell kind of dream was that? Did I have a pool in my room? Something about washing myself with milk. And a couch. I remember something about furniture.
I roll off of my waterbed, which I converted into a sand bed, because it reminds me of when I raced in the 4 Deserts Race and had to sleep on the scorching hot floor of the Gobi desert. I didn’t win the race, but I did much better in the Iditarod later that year. I keep the second place trophy on the shelf, next to my Tony and my third grade spelling bee ribbon.
I stumbled to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Glaring back at me is my ridiculous excuse for a nose. Ever since that kid punched me in the face in the fourth grade and broke my nose in front of everybody in the school, humiliating me and forcing me to change schools, my nose has been crooked and sad-looking. I wonder if that kid even remembers that or even thinks about me. Probably not. Just another forgotten memory, I’m sure.
I look down at my chest at the two-and-a-half inch tall scar dead in the middle of it. The scar is ugly and looks painful, but for the life of me, I can’t remember any injury. I asked a doctor once what could have made such a scar. He told me that it looked like a knife wound, as if I’d been stabbed. But obviously I wasn’t or else I’d be dead. He laughed it away.
I turned on the shower to wake me up. The hot water was soothing and stimulating. All I needed was some coffee and I’d be ready to blunder through whatever the hell was going to happen today.
After the shower I wrapped a towel around me and walked to the kitchen for a bite. I opened the fridge and noticed I still had some leftover pizza. I just pushed aside Gene’s plastic-wrapped head. I had only eaten half of his brain. It wasn’t as good as thigh meat, but I felt that much like the Native Americans of old, I would make use of all the carcass. But sometimes, you’re just in the mood for a slice of pepperoni.
I turned to go back to my room to get dressed, but I tripped on an errant hand that I had accidentally left on the kitchen floor (I thought I had stuffed the rest of the corpse in the space under the couch cushions, how did this get here?). With arms flailing I couldn’t control myself. The floor rushed up to me and I could only think how much this was about to hur…
I hit the alarm clock. Turning my head, I opened one eye to get my bearings. Imagine my surprise when I saw a man in a black suit sitting on a black couch right in front of me. I was way too groggy to completely understand what I was looking at.
Before I had a chance to do anything, the man quickly reached forward and pulled me out of my bed, onto the couch. As soon as I touched the material, my skin started to melt into the fabric of the couch. After a few seconds, I couldn’t make out my legs or feet. Then my torso blended into the couch. I couldn’t move my arms, because I didn’t have any. My head was last to meld. I couldn’t move, but my eyes were still free for me to frantically look around my room for help. There was none. I was being absorbed into a stupid piece of furniture. Accepting my impossible fate, I closed my eyes and embraced the transforma…