The Night Everything Exploded

Just a story, so don't blow a gasket!

                                                               

     Shell Dolan tossed and turned, turned and tossed, but it was no use. He wasn't any closer to sleep than he had been three hours ago, so he pried himself out of bed and sleepwalked out into the living room. Man, was he ever tired. He needed sleep, but it seemed the more he thought about it, the further from that elusive state he became. It had been the same thing every night for the past two and a half weeks. His exhausted brain signaled him that it was ready to go to bed, then, as soon as his head hit the pillow, wham, he was wide awake.

     He poured himself a cup of coffee from yesterday's dregs left in the pot, and mindlessly flipped on the T.V. Some never-had-been television star was telling him about an amazing new miracle drug to cure baldness, which would help with his confidence with the ladies, which would make the need for an erectile dysfunction pill necessary, which they just happened to manufacture also. All he had to do was stay tuned and some other washed-up star would tell him all about it, next. He was in too much of a zombie-trance to change the channel. The coffee tasted bitter, which matched his mood. It didn't matter, so he choked it down anyway. He saw images on the screen, but his thoughts were far, far away. Everything he thought he knew about his life was crashing in on him. He wasn't sure of anything anymore

    He wasn't sure about other people, and worst of all, he wasn't sure about himself. He was reliving things that happened years ago, things that were fact, set in stone, but he was wondering if he'd just done this, or that, something different, that things could have, would have, been different. Deep in his heart, he knew what he was doing to himself was pointless and a complete waste of time, but still he did it. He had long ago finished his dregs, and thought about getting up and making fresh, but somehow he just didn't have the energy. It seemed easier to stay in his zombie-trance.

     He glanced at the T.V. and saw another smiling faker telling him about The Amazing Indestructo-Knife that could cut through concrete, or nails, or some such, and never needed to be sharpened. As he couldn't think of any reason he'd ever need a knife that could cut through anything and still stay sharp, he retreated once again into his self-made misery. He saw long-ago faces, and felt fresh stabs of guilt about something he'd said or done to them. Over and over he relived a traumatic event, and over and over he imagined what he should have done differently. It was useless torture to himself. Suddenly, it all became too much for him to handle. All the demons from his past, in the form of waves, came crashing over his head. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning in deep regret. He couldn't handle it, yet there was no way to escape his own thoughts.

******

     The sun was hurting his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear his head. Where was he? He didn't know. He looked around and listened to the T.V. tell him that the afternoon traffic report was brought to him courtesy of 'Alpine Roofing'. Afternoon? Then bits and pieces of the truth began to work their way into his groggy brain. He must have fallen asleep early this morning, and somehow slept through the day, and now it was afternoon and the shadows were marching their way across the carpet. He was grateful for the rest, and yet the regrets were as strong as ever. The vision of Alice Crabtree forced it's way unwelcome into his sleep-addled mind. Here it was, twilight descending on his world, with hours of darkness staring him in the face, and ghosts from his past were gathering around him again. It was going to be another long night.

 

The End

 

Reviews

[Fiberfib]

This is a fascinating insight into dark hours awake. The coffee dregs seem to echo his bitter regrets.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank you, and I seem to be an expert on dark hours awake, lol; no, it's not that bad, I just started thinking, "what if it was?"

[Rana]

This really got me absorbed. What was amazing about this was how well it seems to have sketched out the psychological condition describing the feels of an emotionally disturbed person fighting insomnia and alongside being moving and sad it offers comic relief in the form of those TV ads. A very poignant write, a very skilfully written story.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank you much Rana, I thought I'd try something a bit different for me, something serious, with a little bit of my usual thrown in, and I guess it must have worked, at least a little!

[Rana]

It has surely worked; it does feel different :)

[Michael Stevens]

I think 'different' is a good description, lol!

[Rana]

you bet it is!

[Michael Stevens]

Yes, he sure does--thanks Marie!

[Marie]

Shell Dolan has really got his wiring crossed. He sleeps into the afternoon, then has to endure another night, staring at the TV set and never-had-been actors trying to sell him things.