Nekro-Narcissistic

Chapter 16- La Caja de Pañuelos

(Featuring the talented guest artist ProbablyBird)

I cannot make you understand. Cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

Tissues snored in a deep, calm slumber. Most times he slept, he wasn't aware his surroundings were just dreams. His dreams were weird, as most were unexplainable stories and events with no connection to one another, and then of course he'd wake up and forget them all instantly. Though there were key things he remembered.

On a few occasions, he dreamt he could fly. He'd need to take a running start, but once he took that first leap, he could shoot off into the sky. His favorite part of these dreams was always stretching his arms out and feeling the wind blow against them. He would shoot towards the clouds, crashing through them to create a white, puffy explosion. Sometimes, drops of rain that composed the clouds would splash onto him, and he delightfully showered in their touch. The only downside to flying dreams was that, of course, what comes up must come down. The feeling of falling in a dream was unpleasant, it made his stomach drop and feel light headed. Nine times out of ten, this would make him immediately awake, only to make a beeline for the nearest washroom to throw up. So, he would fly for as long as possible. Even when he was far too tired or bored to continue, he kept flying.

Some dreams, the more abstract, were not worth remembering. Once, he dreamt he had the voice of a great opera singer. Every word he spoke was eloquent and sung, and he received a standing ovation from a crowd for simply asking what time it was. Another time, he was a farmer, except instead of vegetables, his garden would grow severed legs, the feet sticking out of the ground when they were ready for harvest. He did not remember what he did with the appendages, though he thought if he did cook them up and eat them, it was better to not remember. Then, there was the dream he was in currently. He was walking down a winding hallway, seemingly never ending. The floor was carpeted, gray, and itchy. He was clutching something in his hands tightly, as tightly as if his life depended on it. There were doors along the hallway, painted in all the bright colors of the rainbow. Though, the longer he progressed down the hall, the more muted those colors became. Eventually, there were only white doors lining the hallway. He looked down, and in his hands he held a smaller box of tissues. One not sentient, but similarly colored to himself. At least, he thought he was holding it. He could feel as much, but couldn't quite see his own hands. He swore he could hear someone speaking from behind one of the doors, but they sounded underwater, almost muffed completely. He turned the small box over in his hands. He sneezed abruptly, painting the box in blue snot.

A momentary ceasefire from my own body.

He tore out a tissue from the little box, wiping his hands down. He hated dreams like this. Sometimes, he didn't cough or sneeze at all in his dreams. Those were a blessing. Sometimes, he could even breathe properly and consistently. To his displeasure, he sneezed several more times, all in quick succession, each painting the little box in different colors. In bright oranges, then blues, purples,  to the darkest reds. They were all dripping onto the ground repulsively, and so he kept tearing tissues out from the box. One after another, he tore again and again. Once he was clear, he realized the small box was now empty. He held the cardboard crate in his hands, more gently now. For some reason, he pitied it. He sneezed once more.

Tissues shot up from the couch, sneezing and coughing hysterically. He hacked and wheezed, for once covering his mouth to stop the mucus from ejecting all over the couch.

'WHAT IF YOU GET THEM SICK??! AS IF WE NEED ANYTHING ELSE TO WORRY ABOUT, YOU CAN'T EVEN BOTHER TO COVER YOUR MOUTH.'

He furrowed his brow, purposefully turning and sneezing all over the seats. He jumped off the couch, only to trip over himself, face planting on the floor. He shook his head, trying to fully wake up. His eyes were unfocused, they usually were when he awoke. Sometimes they were just like that too, temporary blindness was something he was very used to at this point. He crawled towards the couch once more, sitting beside, but not on it. The teal box took deep breaths, shutting his eyes once more. They'd just need another minute, then he'd be fine. That's how it always went. He would always be fine after a while.