A Story Part Two

A Story.

Part Two

            It’s really dark in here. On a scale of one to ten, it’s probably a ten. Ten-dark. Tendark. If there was a city named Tendark, i would live there, or actually i probably already do. My room. Tendark. I don’t own any clocks but something tells me it’s getting late. I can tell because there is silence outside. Crickets are sleeping. No sleep. Not ever. That’s a thought i like.

            Sometimes, i think it could be fun to go to bed late and wake up as soon as possible for like a week straight. No sleep, for like a week. Sometimes i think that, but i like sleep. A doctor once told me that sleep was for people who are tired and that i should probably sleep less. Sleep for ten hours a day. Wasted day. Close your eyes forever. Darkness. I’m always tired, so let’s turn off the lights in my head. Tendark, population one.

            Realize there’s no way to turn off your brain, even when you’re asleep. When i sleep that’s when i’m most honest with myself. That’s when i think of the things i don’t want to tell anyone. Today, on my walk home, i crouched near a puddle, and i told a wobbly fellow that looked like me about a dream i had once where i was in a room with a bunch of my friends, except they weren’t really my friends and i was actually in a shitty movie that your parents would find funny.

            Lights.

            Camera.

            Action.

            I’m sitting in this terrible diner with six of my friends. We all are scratching lottery tickets with pennies. (For those of you who don’t know what pennies are they are these copper coins the government hates ((and is now disowning)) because they cost 0.02 cents to make and they are only worth 0.01 cent.) Scratch. Sniff. Copper. My card failed. It’s not very good at being a lottery ticket or maybe it is, just not for me. “I appreciate the effort.” I say.

            My friends continue to scratch their cards and one by one they lose like me. We’re all losing. Lose. Loss. Darkness. But one friend is suddenly loud. Bright face. Illumination. He is staring at me and he is happy. He is very happy. Then he buys stuff. Consumerism. Then he is poor. He is poor and just like me except he has a bunch of things now. “Remember when you won the lottery” I say.

            He stabs me in the heart and in the stomach and I die.

            Cut.

            Credits.

            Then the movie starts up again. I’m sitting on a bar stool at the shitty diner with my oscar-nominated friends. We’re scratching lottery tickets. It’s the exact same goddamn movie. I lose, again, or maybe not again but i lose. It happened again, but it’s the same movie and if you just reread something or rewatch something or refracture your heart the same way like thirty times or whatever, is again the right word or is it just the same thing. A goldfish flies into my room and tells me we’re all the same thing, probably.

I’m rambling.

Sorry.

My friend who won before loses. The actors are confused. One blond girl who looks like (what i imagine) a young Angela from the office says, “Hey. This isn’t in the script. Isn’t he supposed to win?” She’s finishing her card as she asks this. Cameras are still rolling. She wins. I lose. Shake hands with her. She deserves it. We all go see a movie. When we leave, i thank her and i say something stupid like, “Same time next week?” or something. She pulls out a gun and she shoots me in the body a bunch. Swiss cheese. Lactose-intolerant. Ouch. Darkness. I don’t want your money. Sorry again.

Lights.

Camera.

Action.

We’re in the diner again and we’re scratching our lottery tickets. My guy friend loses. Young-Angela loses. I lose. We all lose except this one girl who isn’t my friend – even in my dream. She seems happy to win the money. She looks at me in my eye balls and doesn’t look away immediately which is strange because that doesn’t happen very often i guess. People’s eyes are always playing dodge-ball with glances. Staring is polite. She wears glasses.

Good for eyes.

Good on the eyes.

Heart-swelling.

Illumination.

She has her money somehow already (movie magic) and she gives me one-hundred dollars. She won probably $50,000 dollars (or 49,500 after taxes because my dream looked American) and even though that’s a lot and one-hundred dollars is probably not, it still felt good. “You know, you don’t have to give me this or whatever. It’s your money.” I say. She smiles. I smile. One-hundred dollars. Heart-swelling. Illumination. Action.

My phone was yelling, “wake up.”

I woke up.

My room was cold.

My bed was cold.

Cold.

Tendark.

Population one.