On my way home from gaming, I saw a cop car with lights going, stared at it, and when I got close enough to really make out what was going on, it just wasn’t there. No cars pulled away, nothing like that, there just weren’t cars there. Then I saw a car on an on ramp merging into traffic. I would have to move over or speed up to let him in, but then I looked and he never ended up behind me. So they’re getting worse. Sugar? Caffeine? Stress? Over active imagination? Lack of sleep? I have no idea. This just isn’t good. The good thing is it really stimulates the imagination to come up with new ideas! I did find out that this was all due to getting sick. Friday I spent the day miserable, and I’m guessing that’s ultimately what caused it.
It was dark out, the highway filled with lights. Up ahead, Phil noticed the flashing lights of the police giving chase to someone. He looked eagerly, trying to track where the officer was, but when he drove closer, the lights disappeared. There were no sirens. No cars were getting back on the highway. There was nothing there.
Soon after, looking behind him and to the right, a car was merging into traffic, the lights fairly close behind him. He looked again and there were no lights, at least none close enough to be new to the highway. He rubbed his eyes, “No. This can’t be happening.”
He arrived home safely. The entire rest of the trip he wondered what was happening. Why was he seeing all those visions which weren’t there? A peripheral hallucination he was told once, if it’s brief, was a common occurrence. The brain just compensated for stimuli which wasn’t entirely coherent, and in making up something that would make sense, it was wrong time to time. He was never staring at it, though, watching intensely, only to have it vanish like a magician’s trick.
Once in the house, he slammed the door shut and locked the doors. If those weren’t real, if that was something his mind tricked him into seeing, then what else could be? Where could the lies begin and end when his own psyche had rebelled?
“I don’t know,” he muttered to himself, sliding down against the door, huddling into a ball. “It’s all a lie?” His eyes were heavy, and he stood up, using the walls for support as he made his way through the apartment. At the end of the hall, in the linens closet, he stored his medications. At least he assumed it was supposed to be for linens. It just never was while he lived there.
Zzzquil rested next to the Dayquil and Nyquil. He no longer used the little cup to measure out the 30 ml. He never took quite that much, but he put down one gulp and put the bottle back. The heaviness took seconds to set in, resting on his mind, each thought anchored and stripped away. It was almost difficult making it to the bed up right. Under the covers, curled up and warm, he passed out into his dreams….
Until he had to pee. His mind groggily brought him out of his slumber. His bladder was full. Kidneys complained of needing release, and he stumbled out of bed to oblige. However, he was not in his apartment and bedroom. There was a tree branch instead of his bed. Everything was warm and humidity sunk into his flesh. Sweat and oil layered his face. Through a brush and on a path, he found where he had to go. In the middle of the jungle was a toilet, with toilet paper to the side, and a sink beside that, all built into the trees.
He grunted, closed his eyes, enjoyed the sound of birds and insects droning on, and finally the sound of water splashing against water in a consistent, fairly high speed flow. Finishing he made his way back to the tree branch which was his bed, curled up with a leaf, and went back to sleep.
Fantasy Writer and Cartographer
Speculative Fiction Author
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Author of science fiction and fantasy stories, choosing to write the stories that he would love to read.
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I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.