Eyes Open: Chapter 1 - "...Eggs and Bakey..." (607 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.85 on 10 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by a_little_more_time (View user info) at 2005-08-06 03:06:12 EDT
When Samuel Beck woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as plate steel, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the old quilt, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes.
He coughed once. "What the hell...?" He tried to roll over to one side, but his chitinous shell wouldn't let him budge. All of a sudden, Tom Jones was blaring in his left ear.
"What's new, pussycat? Whoa, whoa whoa, oh oh..."
His eyes snapped open. It took him a great deal of concentration before he remembered where he was. He reached out from beneath the covers, took hold of the alarm clock on the makeshift Yaffa Block nightstand, yanked the plug from the socket and hurled it against the wall. The resulting crunch and the sound of plaster and drywall falling to the floor was utterly satisfying. Of course, it didn't solve anything, but unleashing his ire upon a harmless bit of consumer electronics made him feel better about needing to get up and go to work.
He laid motionless for a few minutes and then threw the heavy comforter off and literally rolled out of bed. He expected his feet to catch him, but when his toes met hardwood he found, with much dismay, that his legs were still very much asleep, and in no condition to support the rest of him. Sam stumbled once and face-planted right into the floor. He was reminded of a chalk outline surrounded by crime scene tape he'd seen once on the sidewalk while running to the subway station. Whoever had leapt off the mortal coil there had done so in such a way that their arms and legs had been sprawled out all over the place. When he'd gotten on the train, Sam had pictured that outline with x's for eyes and a chalk speech bubble saying "Ouch!". He'd laughed so hard that he ended up spraying the woman standing next to him with a mouthful of water. She hadn't been too happy about that, but the whole thing had made his day.
Sam had thoughts like that all the time. He was rarely bored.
He struggled to his feet with a groan, stripped bare, then made his way into the tiny bathroom. Like most young professionals, Samuel's life was defined by shit: shit studio apartment, shit job, shit clothes, poor diet, and Milwaukee's Best in his shitty little refrigerator. Regarding himself in the mirror, he supposed that he even looked like shit; scrawny, lily-white, three-dollar haircut, bad eyesight corrected with glasses, average cock. Just about the only thing he liked about himself was that he made no pretensions about who he was and the life he led.
Hell, that was something, right?
He showered and considered rubbing one out, but passed because he was already running late. Besides, he'd have plenty of time at work. He toweled off and brushed his teeth, then stepped out to dress. He stopped short when he saw the faint figure of his dead grandmother standing at the counter, busy with the coffee maker.
He stood wide-eyed for a moment, watching her, then said the first thing that came into his mind. "Grandma?"
She turned, and there she stood, as though she hadn't kicked more than a decade ago. Short, frizzy hair, dingy bathrobe, thick bifocals, and a glass of Miller Lite in one hand and a Marlboro Red in the other, Apart from being surrounded by a pale white light, she was exactly how he remembered her. Samuel had the passing thought that he was standing naked in front of her, and wondered absentmindedly if she was going to chide him for doing so.
Instead, she just looked disappointed for a moment, took a swig of her beer and a drag from her cigarette, and muttered in that raspy voice of hers. "Aw, for fuck's sake." Then she turned back to the coffee pot and faded into nothing.
Samuel stared for a minute, then passed his hand before his eyes a few times. He didn't FEEL like he had a concussion. He reached forward and switched the coffee maker off and decided that the events of this morning were adequate justification for him to go bar crawling after work. With that, he dressed (white shirt, black slacks, black tie, blah blah blah), grabbed his tattered messenger bag and cell phone, and dashed out the door.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Samuel arrived at the Glasston Building four minutes and thirty-seven seconds late. He took the steps up to the front door three at a time, plowed over two execs in power suits on his way inside, and slid on his heels through an elevator's closing doors. He was shaking so badly from exertion that he hit four wrong buttons before punching the right one.
As the crowded metal box began to rise, he closed his eyes and managed to catch his breath. As he thought blissfully about yet another day of data entry and mentally undressing his female coworkers, he was interrupted when the tinny music piping through the elevator's speaker. It was the standard stuff, some kind of peppy lounge tune, but Sam was positive he recognized the melody. It wasn't until the singer, channeling Paul Anka, started singing that he pegged it.
"Ohhhhhhhhh, Master of Puppets, I'm pulling your strings.
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams. Hi, how're you tonight?
Hey, blinded by me, you can't see a thing, oh, no.
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream..."
He turned his eyes upward in bewilderment, then looked around. All of the other drones were simply staring straight ahead, as though they didn't even hear it. The song kept going as the elevator continued up, and the crooner had launched into a sexy rendition of Ministry's "So What" by the time Samuel stepped out onto his floor in a daze.
He half stumbled to his cubicle, set down his bag and fired up his terminal. He rested in the cut-rate office chair until the system had finished booting, then he checked his mail.
The newest message, titled "Re: This Morning", caught his eye, mainly because he didn't recognize the sender's address. When he finished reading it, the events since his dream made slightly more sense, despite filling his head with questions.
His head started to throb again as he started to re-read it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[To be continued...eh, maybe.]
[Author's Note: All apologies to a Mr. Franz Kafka and his associated estate.]
User Reviews
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-02-17 13:20:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
creepy kafka start.
Submitted by MichelleNJ (user info) at 2006-02-17 13:06:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Auto Ministry +2 (and Metallica)
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-08-13 03:50:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-08-13 03:37:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
where the fuck have you been?
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-08-07 02:46:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I hate that you dont get more hits
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-08-06 07:25:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked it, but the bug-thing confused me at the beginning. I liked your style, yet somehow something about it kind of threw me off. Also, you seem to treat your lead character with a little bit of contempt...which is fine, as long as that's your intention.
Incidentally, Paul Anka has released and album called "Rock Swings," in which he covers a bunch of decidedly NON-Anka songs (kind of like how Johnny Cash covered Rusty Cage by Soundgarden). It's truly hideous and bizarre and would have fit into your story pretty well.
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2005-08-06 06:37:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by vergery (user info) at 2005-08-06 05:49:03 (#)
Ranking: -2
awesome
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aww, how CUTE! A retaliatory -2 from a person who hasn't even POSTED yet! And all because I called them an alter.
Well, here's some cheerful news, you unfortunate non-abortion: I could give a fuck about ratings! Yep, you heard right! Go ahead and minus two me to death, fuckstick. See how many tears I shed.
Oh, and by the way...
...I still think you're a fucking alter. Tool.
Submitted by vergery (user info) at 2005-08-06 05:49:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
awesome
Submitted by Ducky (user info) at 2005-08-06 05:17:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Vivid.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2005-08-06 03:44:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You should continue this so I can figure out what's going on.