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One Saturday Morning
Asswipe
12 Sep 2003
I am watching The Simpsons in a dark room, but it is not my own. The volume on the television is low enough to not arouse my snoring brother. A cigarette sits between two fingers of my right hand which rests on the arm of a familiar, leather chair. A worn television remote nests in my lap.
Suddenly the cigarette morphs into a fiery drake. I jump off my chair and stand there admiring the beast. It is perched on the arm of my chair, watching me with eyes like marbles the color of the sun. It stands maybe two feet tall and has black, arched wings protruding from its shoulders. The dwarf dragon's red and black body is enveloped in a shield of flames. It hops off the chair and strolls out of the door. As it passes through the door, flames jump from it's wings and encircle the doorway. At the same instant there is a loud, mechanical shrieking.
My eyes open to the sound of my fire alarm at home but it isn't my fire alarm; my alarm clock is going off. The whining clock's red lights read "6:30". I throw my arm over my shoulder and my hand hits several of the buttons on the clock; the alarm stops. I turn around, facing away from the bright sunlight coming through my open window. I bury my face in my pillow and am asleep before I even realize I was just awake.
I am sitting on the edge of my neighbor's grass with my brothers. The burning house is the only thing giving light to the black night. My mother just returned from calling the fire department. "Everything is going to be ok," she assures us. Her bottom lip is quivering and tears are melting from her eyes, leaving dark trails in their path. Everyone, including Chloe and Max, a Pug and German Shepard, are accounted for. Flames consume the once proud house. A pillar of smoke, rising from the crumbling roof, carries our memory to heaven. Thunder crackles somewhere far away.
My eyes open. A Britany Spears poster that's normally displayed on the ceiling over my bed is lying over my face. I push the poster onto the floor and sit up in bed. A wet impression of my body soaks the sheets. The clock now shows "7:45". "Shit", I say out loud punching the already dented wall. I roll out of bed catching my foot on the sheets and I fall face first into the Britany Spears poster. I don't have time to take a shower.
I scan the room for a pair of pants. I see one leg of my favorite pair of Structure Jeans sticking out from under a heap of clothes. The jeans smell like a mix of Right Guard: Fresh Blast and old Chinese food. I put them on and rummage through the same pile of clothes, looking for my green Nike sweatshirt. After digging through it for several seconds I give up my search. I walk over to the blue hamper in the corner of my room, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over the various items littering the floor. I take out a blue American Eagle sweatshirt that smells similar to my pants but with a bit of a toothpaste added in. I put the shirt on and notice some extra weight in the front pocket. "Sweet, there those are," I say out loud, fingering my lost keys. I finish getting dressed and go into the bathroom.
Walking by the mirror I notice a huge pimple protruding from my chin. It looks like a red volcano with a white boulder jammed in the top. I put a nail of both thumbs on either side of the pimple and squeeze gently. My eyes tear. Suddenly the zit erupts and pus splatters on the mirror. I urinate and walk back into my room to grab my school bag.
The clock now says, "7:55." I put on my sneakers, right foot first as always, and run downstairs. There's no brown paper bag on the dining room table. "Mom!" I shout up the stairs. "Where's my lunch?" No one answers me.
I run upstairs into my mom's room. She's still asleep. "Mom, don't you have work?"
Her eyelids part slowly and she looks at the clock. "Wha..? It's Saturday."
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