Here he sits idling. Having done tasks and additional unforseen tasks. All complete and finished. Here he sits waiting for time to pass. Endless waiting and conquering games of solitaire. Games
that speak of confinement yet offer instant sataisfaction. Only to a certain point. Then begins the feeling of wanting to do something, anything else. Idling is something to be done short term,
this endless waiting ways heavy.
His eyes, dark green, begin to falter. Ever ounce of eye movement is a followed with trimendous effort of not giving into an uncouscious state. Both unwanted and wanted. To give into such a rest would feel so relaxing, distant and safe. The noise, humming and the odd crack and crash of steel would not interferre one bit with that rest. Yet he resists, it is not himself to give in to such things while at work. He should be working. But what to work on? Poeple are happy and no problems to report. His eyes begin to close. He begins to feel the pulling inside to let go.
The hair on his head, plenty, has been messed unavoidably by his hardhat. His head begins to teeter and fall to his chest. He breathes deep and his eyes open just slightly. The room and noise are fading, flowing away. A fury of fuzziness rushes around his lowered head. Distinctly he feels his eyes darting left to right. He will not remember that later.
He falls to sleep in his chair. His breath is unlabored and healthy, total relaxation. Any form of discomfort cannot be felt. The room is alone. The lively presence that gave it meaning now asleep in an old chair. Reality is nothing now.
Unconscious darkness leads to unconscious dreams and an uncounscious feeling of the surreal.In front of him forms slide into view. He sees them but feels no fear. The forms are odd. They appear as sheep. One blasts forward in a frenzy. Not keeping with learned traditions of sheep jumping over fences, there was no fence to jump over. It darts straigh for him. Its legs not moving in the blur of speed. When it stops it, the lamb, one of the sheep, stares at him with yellow rimmed eyes. Its horns that of a moutain goat. It was some form of lamb is all he knew about it. The wool was very fluffly but black as night. -There was light to see but from where, unknown. Just as fast as it charged it was back with the rest.
He counted twenty-two before he gave up. There were more behind those. They are all staring at him. All wanting him in obvious negative ways. Some of them were altering appearances or moving too quickly for anything that existed on the world. He thought he could hear groaning and huffs but only thought. One turned sideways, he saw, and with amazement the number twelve is visible in white on its side.
He is running, trying to evade the animals supposedly chasing him. He is in a poorly lit hallway. Instantly he hits a looked door and is forced to turn around. One, two, three, seven, four-teen he can see them running and prancing between the many rooms connected to the long deathly hallway. The grimy grey and dirty white tiles hide the unknown light from spreading. The sheep are getting closer. He feels paniced, he'll be killed for certain. Fourty-seven, five, six-teen, have they no order? He can see their now matted wool and sharp, thick horns on thier heads. They are mighty fast on thier feet. Each time one comes in view it darts a look at him as if to say you're a dead man. The sheep, the counting sheep continue down the hallway jumping in and out between the many rooms. The further rooms are still releasing more sheep. Running and prancing. It is a busy site to see. He cannot hear a thing only a feeling of running away somehow but not sure how.
On top of hay he lays. He counts each lamb, each terrorizing lamb that jumps over him. Certain he will be crushed by one of them. Here he lays counting sheep surely from hell.
There they are again. In front of him. Light illuminates them from an unknown location. The background, the surroundings are just black, just darkness. He doesn't realize there is no ground. Before him a lamb slowly walks up, turns, number one. Then it rears its devilish face and opens its mouth. A light, blinding light is shown through its mouth and beging to seep through its eyes. A sound, a sound of one constant ringing. A ringing one knows could be a fire alarm. An alarm that has a hammer between two bells and hammers frantically. It gets louder and the light brighter -
His crossed leg drops to the floor hard and he is startled awake. The ringing is still going. He gathers himself. He finds where he is and that ringing is from a crane. Warning it is on the move he figures.
A dream, nothing else, just a dream. He packs his gear and mounts his backpack over one shoulder and checking his pockets to ensure he's good to go.
Without any further thought to his counting sheep he flicks the light off and closes the steel door. The window rattles breifly. The room left alone in an ominous dark.
© Copyright 2016 Creighton Isiris Frost. All rights reserved.
Book / Thrillers
Short Story / Fantasy
Short Story / Other
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