“This is the second time you’ve called out sick this month!”
“I know, I was feeling really sick, really tired, and just couldn’t-“
“Those aren’t excuses!”
Everything was black, except for outlines of her boss and their cube area.
RED, FLASHING, BLUE
She awoke to darkness.
Her sweatpants were covered in sweat.
The blanket was on the ground next to the couch.
It was 4:47 AM.
She had intended to wake early, but not this early.
Memories from the dream flooded in.
More than anything else, she wanted those thoughts to go away. It was hard enough to deal with at the time, especially the repercussions she was still feeling even now, but to have to constantly relive those events? What curse had she broken?
She needed to use the restroom.
Nothing in the bathroom was decorated. She couldn’t afford much more than cheap towels and plastic shower curtains and even those were luxuries that her debts could barely afford. What kind of life was this? Constant suffering and anxiety?
“Can you share your notes with me on connecting to-“
Another vulgar nightmare.
Her legs were heavy and her heart beat unreliably.
What a terrible time to be sober.
Shake that thought!
How many more years of debt am I in before I can start to live a decent life again? It’s too much- the paint in the bathroom wall stopped swirling slightly as she focused on standing up and flushing the toilet.
Looking in briefly: nothing in the toilet, except some grime along the sides.
She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. No point. She was going to get up early to get focused to send out resumes on her day off, but there was no need to leave the apartment.
No need for temptations of the alcohol aisle.
No need for self-care today, since there was no need to be presentable, and nothing really of value to do out there in Eville. The museums were too expensive, she had enough books, and some acceptable clothes.
The alarm clock said 6:08 AM.
The alarm would go off at 7, but really, what was the point of waking up at 7 compared to 10 or noon? The fifty or so resumes she’d already sent out had no responses other than automated rejections.
To go back to bed would mean facing those nightmares.
She opted instead to sit at her dining room table and boot up her computer. The lights from the screen quietly illuminated outlines representing the apartment. Her inbox contained one new email.
Meet this weekend/
wanna meet up this weekend? We haven’t hugn out in a while and I wanted to call by hpone but wasn’t sure what your work schedule is like do I didn’t want to bug you!
I can pick u up at your palce if thats easeir?
Those negative voices seemed to stop right away.
She clicked reply and started typing way until her alarm went off.
|Sources: My experiences.|
|Inspirations: Art is the most evocative when life is the hardest, sure, but it’s also one of those dangerous games we play where we have to be careful not to go too far. Jane hasn’t revealed much about herself to me, other than what I’ve written so far and some more events that I haven’t written about yet, so it’ll be interesting to see if she can live peacefully.|
|Related: Somewhere in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story.”|
|Picture: Generic picture to save time.|
|Written On: October 21st [90 minutes]|
|Last Edited: No additional edits.|