3:24 a.m.


Cascades of color infiltrate my ever growing pupils.  While it is exhilarating, the hues mean nothing.  And my eyes, my poor eyes, where have they traveled?  Where have they gone?  The lush golden-green which used to be displayed ever so confidently has now… vanished.  And in it’s place, an empty black now resides.  This darkness provokes my eyes to play tricks, and they do.  I see the tapestries dance; like a choreographed ballet.  They are no longer hanging on the vertical, but have grown legs, picking fun at my already distorted perception.  Perfect?  Maybe some would dare call it that.  But the truth is, there are no tapestries.  There never were any paintings on the wall.  I swallow.  My throat begs me to take a drink of water, but I can’t find a cup, nor a faucet or anyone around me that would even consider helping me out.  So I ignore my need, and allow my minutes to whither.  I blink, and in that half second of shutting my eyes, I see it.  The end.  I see my pitiful body laying lifeless on the lawn.  Whatever.  It wasn’t real.  I lean my head down, inhale violently, and bring my head back up.  It tickles my nostril as it enters.  I brush the extra powder off the side of my nose.  The impact of the chemical deafens me for a moment.  I lean back, looking up at the ceiling.  It looks abnormally wavy.  Too much.  I cannot stare at such things right now.  And my ears.  The ticking clock seems to have produced a jingle.  Or maybe the time-teller is broken, or maybe it just ticks on beat.  I don’t know, all I know is that I am here.  Someone asks if I’d like a cigarette.  I thankfully accept, but here, in the warmth of this room, is not the place.  I stand up, put my shoes on, and walk towards the door.  I fumble with my lighter as I step onto the unkempt grass that makes up the front yard.  But then, something stops.  There is no beating, no blood flow, no swallowing, no breathing, no remedy.  I fall straight down.  My eyes still open, I see the blades of grass mock me as I lay dying.  Alone.

“Hey. Hey man.” He nudges me one more time until I wake up.  “You passed out on the bed hours ago.”

“What?” I reply.

“Yeah man, we were gonna wake you up when we went to the bar, but Jillian told me to let you sleep.  so I did.  We’re back now.”

I looked at him, my countenance must have expressed confusion, because he just smiled and let out a chuckle.

“Really?  What time is it?” I ask.

“You must have had a crazy dream!  It’s 3:24 a.m.” He answered.

I sat up, and wiped the sleep from my eyes.  Noise came from the other rooms.  Sounds like a group.  At least five or more.

“Yeah.  It was… a weird dream.” I say in a fatigued voice.

He starts toward the dining room door, “Oh, by the way, my buddy from New York is here. He brought some quality stuff back for us to do.  They’re making lines right now.  You wanna partake?”

My dream flashes back through my mind, “No, I think I’m going to head home.”

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2 comments on “3:24 a.m.

  1. sharonpinkston says:

    Hey Zach,
    Finally getting a chance to read this well and respond. I like this. At first, after reading it quickly, I wasn’t sure I understood it. But i do now and I like how it was written. Keep it up. I’m ready for the next one.

    • yea this one was a lot different then my normal themes. It kinda represented for me the fact that I do not need a crutch in my life other than Jesus. It doesn’t say that, and it is very much a dark piece, but I wanted it cause it makes me think. For someone that has never had issues with such things, it may not mean anything. but for those who have, it may.

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