Anxiety
There was a dim light at the end of the tunnel. Very feint, yet in a way, it was very bright. He found himself being called to it, beckoned. He had to obey. The voice wasn't just in his mind, it was in his blood. He walked closer.
―
It was Saturday, June 15th, and the sun was nowhere to be found. It had been overcast for the past eight days, and most people weren't even sure what the sunlight looked like anymore. The clouds had hidden not only the sun, but the stars and the moon as well. It was as if God decided to wrap the Earth in a cold, gray blanket, and simply forgot the world even existed, leaving it that way for eternity.
Minutes rolled by, until 6:30 AM, and the alarm began blaring loudly. Daniel shot up out of his bed, almost hitting his head on the steel framing of the bunk above his. He muttered to himself, and reached over, quieting the alarm before it irritated him any further. Shuffling out of his bed, he lazily tossed the covers back onto the bed without any concern for neatness. He wasn't really in the best of moods. Not after having the same dream for the eighth night in a row.
He knew by now that there was some hidden meaning to that dream, but he couldn't make sense of it. All he could see was just pitch black all around him, except in one direction. If he looked there, he saw light. It was very hard to see, and in normal lighting conditions, would be horribly insignificant. Yet, because everything was so dark, that light seemed as if it could brighten the whole building.
"Wait... building? I don't even know if that was a building, a road, or what," he muttered to himself. He had no idea what the place was. It felt familiar though. As if he had been there before.
"Maybe I should just let it go for now. I'm starting to sound crazy," he sighed, and shook his head.
He pulled open the top drawer of his dresser, grabbing a pair of light blue jeans and a basic white t-shirt. He rolled his eyes, thinking to himself, "I really should get some new clothes. It's ridiculous to wear the same kind of outfit every day." He was never seen wearing anything else. Just a white shirt and blue jeans. Only on cold days would he wear an additional article of clothing, which was just a plaid black and white button up shirt. It was very little to warm him up any more, but it would have to do. But today would be tolerable without it.
He looked over at the top bunk, seeing if his roommate was awake or not, and shrugged when he didn't really see any movement. He set the clothes he'd grabbed onto his shoulder, grabbed his razor from the top of the dresser, and walked into the bathroom -- which was conveniently located next to the room, being a typical apartment and all -- before shutting the door behind him.
He had no intentions of taking a shower. He did that at night, before going to sleep. He didn't like taking showers in the morning; he was always too grouchy to accomplish anything. He was simply going to shave, fix his hair, and leave. He tossed the clothes he brought with him on top of the towel rack, finding it simple enough for them to just kinda hang off the edge, so long as they stayed. He wasn't organized; it didn't matter to him.
Shaving didn't take long. All he had was stubble, since he shaved every other day. The steps he took simply consisted of lathering up the shaving gel, smearing it along his cheeks and chin, and gliding the razor down his face in a few strokes until all the foamed up remnants of the lathered gel were gone. At that point, he just splashed cold water onto his face. Most people would use aftershave; he didn't like the feel of it. He instead preferred to use cold water, even if all it did was wash away any traces of shaving gel he might have missed.
He sighed, and grabbed the jeans from the rack, while the shirt dropped to the floor. He didn't really even care, as he slid his right leg into the jeans, followed shortly by the left, before pulling them up and zipping (and buttoning, of course) them shut. He leaned over, grabbed his shirt, and quickly put it on. He was quick about shirts -- he put both arms into the shirt first, then simply pulled his arms down to his sides, which brought the shirt down over his head with little effort required.
All he had left was just fixing up his hair. That was simple. He grabbed a small bottle on the shelf, tilted it over and sprayed some of the contents onto his left hand, setting the bottle back where he got it. He turned on the faucet, wetting his right hand just a bit, then rubbed his hands together, and drifted his fingers through his hair. The end result was a slightly spiky look to his hair, almost making it look messier than it was, but still better than before. It would have to do.
This was the start to his daily routine.
―
The light had grown brighter. Or, at least, it seemed like it. Upon second glance, he realized it wasn't brighter -- it was closer. And there was someone standing under it.
―
"Mendoza, are you sleeping on the job again?"
No response.
"Mendoza! I asked you a question!"
Still no response.
"Damnit, Mendoza... WAKE UP!"
Daniel shot up from his comfortable pillow of his computer keyboard, and found himself looking towards his boss, who had a very stern expression on his face.
"...Oh. I was sleeping again, wasn't I?" He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake up fully.
"Yes, and that makes the 4th time this week. You shouldn't even be coming in to work if you can't stay awake during daylight hours."
Daniel shook his head, trying to explain himself to his boss. "It's not that, just--"
"I don't want to hear it. The next time you fall asleep on the job, you're fired. If you can't stay awake, just call in sick, get some healthy sleep, and we'll see you back here when you're capable of actually working."
His boss wasn't happy with him. He couldn't blame him though, he had fallen asleep on the job four times in one week. It was because of the dream. It had to be. Every single time he had that dream, he found himself feeling tired, as if he didn't sleep enough. He had to figure out the meaning of that dream, or else it was going to kill him. That's how he saw it.
He was sent home from work for the day, much to his dismay. He gathered what little stuff he took with him to work, which was usually just useless electronics. His cell phone, and a laptop he used to transfer files back and forth between his home computer and office computer. He slung the laptop bag over his shoulder, stuffed his cell phone into his right jean pocket, and walked out of the office.
His boss stopped him right before the door, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Next time you're here, we expect some results. Get some rest for now, Mendoza." He lifted his hand away, and walked back to his own office.
Daniel sighed, and resumed leaving. He glanced back at the door after closing it, shook his head, and walked off down the sidewalk back to his house.
His only way to and from work, was walking. He didn't have a car; he knew how to drive, he just didn't have the money to make payments on a car, car insurance, and gasoline expenses. The only reason he was able to stay in the apartment was because his roommate covered most of the rent. He was lucky; his roommate would surely kick him out before long. In the meantime, he needed to start making more money, and he wasn't doing a very good job of that by sleeping on the job repeatedly. One day, things would get better. One day. That's what he'd keep telling himself, at least. But he knew it wouldn't. Not until he could get rid of that dream.
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