I dim my lights as I sit down to take a short nap. My job has become so tiring. High schools students simply don't know how to manage their time. I slide my eyelids down and doze for a few minutes before I hear a banging on the back door. It's Twelve A.M. and someone is knocking. Who would be awake at this hour? Gradually, I decide to get up, groaning with stiffness. As I reach the back door after quite a few stumbles, I open the shades to an unforgiving and unrelenting darkness. Teens these days don't understand the importance of peace. I move back with sly movements, sliding towards the bed. My haven of silky covers and a blanket as soft as moss. I slip under my blanket and pick up the book resting on my nightstand. Nothing like some sixteenth-century literature to rest my mind. To endear myself in another world without the habits and toils of earth. The dull cover offsets my interest and my mind resonates the echo of sleep. My eyes quiver as a redundant twitch occurs, allowing me to realize my exhaustion.
My eyes droop downwards until I stare at mundane darkness. My conciseness fades to a gentle awareness and I begin to sleep.
As I sleep, I dream of nightmarish gore. I see my dismembered head upon the mantle of my fireplace, and my arms and legs become the logs fueling the fire. My heart lies clenched in a grimy claw, but I cannot see the owner of the hand, for a shadow clings to it. The hand is thin and mangled with dead flesh covering the muscle. As I stare at the mass of darkness, I see eyes appear. Yellow and red eyes gleam with satisfied blood-lust. I can't look away... I.. I can't breathe....
I wake with glittery perspiration lining my skin. I wheeze for air as I inhale and exhale. What.. was... that? I can't find the courage to speak, or even mutter. I should relax. It was only my imagination... or was it? I tilt my head toward the mantle cautiously. I'm so foolish. Of course it was only a dream. I sit up to make some tea and quickly return to my calming book. I turn to look at the time. That's odd. It seems the power went out. I breathe deeply, as if to clear the horrors that have filled me and read until daylight filters through the curtains. I wonder how much sleep I got. Whatever the amount, I still have to go to work. I quickly begin my morning rituals and make my meal. After waiting for my oatmeal to heat up, I swiftly add some milk and sugar, grab my cold coffee from yesterday, and crash drastically onto my office chair. There's not enough time to eat separately. I start typing only to realize that my computer is out of battery. This all is quite eerie. What's next, my class is bleeding on the floor, writhing in immense pain?
Finally, I'm ready to drive to school. I get in my car, turn the ignition, and lift the parking break. I switch into reverse as I inch backwards. The journey their is quite uneventful and I reach class without causing any trouble in the hallways with the impatient students. I rest my brow on the palm of my hand and shake my head to ward off grogginess. Already, I can tell this day isn't going to be blissful. My sophomores file into class loudly and continue to converse, even after the bell, until I slam my fist onto one of my front row students' desk.
"Everyone be quiet now, or you'll all fail this course!" I yell furiously.
Suddenly, everyone perks up and listens.
"Excellent. I'm sorry for being so rude and short-tempered with you, but I had a very rough night. Now, class, get out your homework from yesterday and use the answers on the board to correct your paper. I don't want to hear another word," I direct them, aggravated by the lack of coherence this class should contain. This class should be able to calm down without me telling them to do so. Perhaps I'm being harsh. After all, they are only fifteen. The class drifts across their papers with over-exaggerated movements, scratching their paper occasionally with their pens to mark an answer incorrect. After corrections, I set them to work on another exercise to rehearse their grammar for the fifth time this week. Nothing happens and they leave quite unhappy with their new assignment. I guess I could have been less dramatic and just given them the papers without shouting. As the passing period ends, I leave my thoughts to be recuperated and pondered again later. Now is not the time. I prestinely repeat the process again, thoroughly making sure to avoid offense to others.
