Broken: Part Four “Presage”

4/24/00

By: Hikari

Notes: This part sucks… it’s better off it were in serious doujinshi form ><()

All disclaimers apply.

*****

I squint my eyes and groggily turn over, covers completely twisting over my body and around my legs. The sun’s rays beat over my eyelids, and whiten the whole living room. What a pain… I don’t want to wake-up. I… want… to… SLEEP. Heaving myself out of bed, I stumble over the fallen blankets and pillows. It’s not that I’m still having a hangover, it’s just that I only got around forty-five minutes of rest last night. On my way to the blinds at the balcony, I stub my toe and hit my knee on several chairs and table legs. I would have streamed out curses no one would ever have dreamed of hearing before, but right now I don’t care. Gruffly, I push these stupid obstacles out of my way.

After that ordeal, I almost did a summersault over Kurama’s leather footrest. Oh, what a perfect way to start a day, ne? Walk around like that loon from that show I saw on T.V. once. Who’s that guy again? Dick Van Dyke? What a name…

Well what do you know, I made it here alive. A few bruises here and there, nothing to worry about. All I need to do is to pull this string and VOILA… I can go back to bed… er… couch. Pulling on the string, I quickly run and literally throw myself into my most favorite place in the world- face first that is.

Aahh… it’s so quiet. It’s nice and cool in here too. I can’t help, but rub my face among the comfy pillows. Great thing to know that ningens are good for something- and that’s making air conditioners.

A few moments pass, and my ears pick-up activity and creaks from the other room. Footsteps. Kurama is getting ready for school. What is he doing in his room anyway? Sounds like he’s walking in circles. Wait a minute… Who am I to talk? I probably made it sound as though an apocalypse were taking place when I was moving around. The door opens and bangs loudly. I turn my head to the side, and glimpse Kurama pop some bread into the toaster and brew some coffee. The next thing I know, he dashes to the living room and pulls open the blinds. ALL THE FREAKING WAY. The wash of light gives me a piercing headache… it’s like having the hangover all over again! Before I can say a word, my friend hurriedly goes out the dorm- toast in mouth and mug in hand- door slamming deafeningly behind him. I blink a few times in disbelief. He’s actually late. That’s highly unusual. It’s a sign that the world is collapsing. Sitting up, I stretch out and wait for my eyes to adjust to the luminosity. Now considering what just happened, having survived a regular redheaded tornado whizzing by, I’m thinking heavenly slumber will be a little too hard to achieve.

So I stand again, and this time, walk to the kitchen without being beaten- up by furniture. Opening the fridge, I finger through the countless numbers of jars, bento boxes, taper ware, and mystery foil wraps. They clanging and clinging somewhat musically together. If this were the idiot’s fridge, I’d probably have to fight against unknown life forms of the third degree. I can easily imagine myself being strangled by tentacles from disgusting mold or mutated mildew- sucked into the icebox never to be heard from again.

My tombstone reads: He was born. He lived. He lost to a fridge.

Finally I found something I like. Milk. There’s not much left in the carton, might as well finish it off and dispose of it. I grab a glass from the dish rack and pour until the last few drops seep out. Gulping the milk down, my foot pushes on the button at the bottom the trashcan to open the lid. My eyes shift to their corners and glance at the living room. Abruptly, I spray out the milk, and wipe off the mustache from my face. What the hell? Are my eyes playing tricks on me? The couch… where are my sheets? The pillows too… they’re gone! Setting the cup on the counter, I rub my eyes and look again. No… the bedding is still gone! Vanished! Deciding that there is no way that my covers could have folded and put themselves away, I walk to where I slept. Hands examine the couch warily, irises flit in all directions- nothing. Alright… I probably need more milk to get my system going- I’m not crazy, I’m tired.

Rotating around, my body jolts- and I nearly trip over my own feet. My glass… where is it? It was on the counter five seconds ago!! I sprint for the kitchen, and look on the floor in case it had fallen- but then, wouldn’t I have heard the shattering of glass? Slowly, look up. The glass I had used is back on the dish rack- untouched. I then rush to open the trash bin. No carton. Now the fridge- and low and behold there it is, in between the ketchup and the orange juice. I pick it up and shake it around. The milk was still in there.

My throats tightens and my breathing becomes audible and heavy. This must be a dream. A dream, that’s what this is. One BIG dream. In dreams you can’t read anything. Numbers, words, and figures get jumbled and distorted- undecipherable. Kurama’s shelf is satiated with books, all that needs to be done is to go to his room and see if I can derive any text.

Striding steadfastly, I barge through the room- making the door recherché off the wall, taking bits of plaster. Grabbing a reasonably thick book, I open it and read.

“Darwin’s theory on evolution states that mammals and invertebrates alike, must adapt to their environment in order to survive. Thus, Darwin’s basis on evolution- natural selection- is brought into act. The physical trait, which is found to be most useful to that species in a specific area, would be passed down from one generation to the next- until a whole new breed is formed. Otherwise, the creature inhabiting that zone will gradually die away from natural extinction…”

This is NOT a dream. Angrily, my fingers begin to tremble and with my hands, I tear the book to shreds. Spitefully, it’s thrown to the floor- some of the pages fluttering down like feathers.

“Well?!?! What are you waiting for?!?! Aren’t you going sprout arms and paste yourself together?!?!” Staring at the scraps of paper, they remain idle. I look away, and see that the plaster on the wall is now back in its place- perfect. So that’s how it is. It’s only when my attention is no longer directed, that inanimate objects restore themselves. My attention goes back to the book. It’s no longer in puzzle-pieces on the carpet, but back on the shelf- right where it belongs.

“But why?” I back-up and slide against the door- body virtually trembling with terror. Raising my right hand to my face, I discern into it. How pale it is, and frail- almost dead in appearance. It quakes uncontrollably, beyond my restrain. I stare at it for a long time, until finally… finally I use my left hand to scratch deep into my palm- hoping to open the flesh and rupture a vein.