He knew that he had to get out of bed. He knew that his alarm clock was going to ring in just a few moments. He dozed into an instant sleep, his worries vanishing in an instant. Then, as quickly as it had come, the alarm came in a shrill howl that caused his stomach to drop.
Just five more minutes he thought to himself while utilizing the clock's snooze function.
The increment of time seemed to hardly exist. The alarm was blasting once more, sending feelings of dread and guilt to circulate within him.
In a frustrated fit, he kicked the blanket from his body and slammed his hand down upon the clock. After silencing the noise, he felt his body melt into the sheets around him, the seductive softness tempting him to stay. Why did he even agree to such a thing? Did they even need him to help move? He rose from the bed, feet slapping down noisily upon the hardwood floor. He trudged to the bathroom, his eyes closed to a squint from the bright morning light seeping through the windows. He snapped on the bathroom light, the resulting brightness causing a labored moan to escape his lips. His eyes searched himself in the mirror. He looked awful, he knew that.
He never does anything for me he thought angrily, his gaze following the delicate lines of the bags held beneath his eyelids Why should I help him?
He began considering the line of thought with sleep-fueled seriousness.
I'll just tell him I got held up in traffic he announced to himself, suddenly turning on his heel and back toward the seemingly glowing bed it's not like they will miss me much.
He practically leapt back into the folds of delicious fluffiness, his eyes instantly slamming shut. He would only sleep for a little bit, he thought.
He instantly began to dream, something that did not come easily to him. He was in the room of a new looking house, the area bare of furniture and instead replaced with sealed boxes. He was lying upon the floor, his eyes staring lazily up and the ceiling.
“Hey man!” came a voice from above, “Can you help me with this side?”
He sat up a bit to find the source of the voice. His eyes widened at the sight before him. The man that knelt before him crawled upon a mass of twisted arms and legs, his hands cradling a large box. His face was completely missing, save for a gaping, bloody hole. He hobbled toward him upon those broken appendages, the sounds of snapping bone emanating from below. He instantly shot to his feet and backed away.
“Little help?” the hole spoke, “A little heavy.”
The room began to tilt uncomfortably, the floor beneath him appearing to slosh with rolling movement. A deafening snap suddenly came from his right leg, causing him to cry out in shock and horror. He gazed downward to see his leg bent at an awkward angle, the ankle hanging limp and useless. Another crunch sounded from his back, causing him to hunch over and squeeze his eyes shut in agony. Again and again, more bones within his body twisted and turned as if made from the most fragile of twigs.
“See? That's it.”
His friend was hunched beside him, seeming to watch the grizzly transformation. With one, final crack from his spine, the noises halted. He stayed there, a rumpled mass of pain and brokenness, his face streaming with tears. Then, those same eyes fell from his head as if they were merely stuck to him with cheap adhesive. He brought his twisted fingers to his face, touching at a gaping hole.
“Now you can help, can't you?” came the voice of his impatient friend, “It's not so bad after awhile. You get used to it.”
His eyes shot open in bed suddenly, a layer of thick sweat layering his brow. He threw his body into a sitting position, the memory from the vivid dream pricking his neck and sending shivers through his body. With one, fluid movement, he left the bed and headed for the shower. Maybe it was best that he did help his friend after all, he thought.
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