(if: $wake is 1)[It's morning. Time to get up for class. Another day passes where you show your alarm clock mercy. It reads 23:10. You spend several minutes lying in bed staring at the ceiling considering career options that don't require an education before oozing out of the sheets. You note the **dust motes** floating in the sun rays peeking through your window, trying not to remember that they're likely to be skin particles. You shut the cracked door to your closet, trying not to acknowledge the sparkling eyes within[[—|thing]]you're a little bit late, it's not like you've got time for that.
The contents of your dresser leave something to be desired, so you sniff test a few shirts from the hamper and the floor to get dressed. A sock writhes its way underneath the bed[[.|underbed]] You put laundry on your to-do list...behind the dishes, [[grocery shopping|grocery list]], homework, and unclogging the bathroom sink.
You throw everything you'll need to leave into your backpack, lunch and all. A squished sandwich still tastes like a sandwich. A small blessing that you found your **keys** in the fridge next to the lunch you made, even though they shouldn't have been there. The time on the kitchen clock reads 19:50. You're quite late now. But you still need to [[brush your teeth.]]](if: $wake is 2)[It's morning. Time to get up for class. You're relieved that it was just a weird dream. Of course, how you didn't notice at the time is beyond you. Especially the horseshoe crab thing. A cursory glance at the alarm clock reads 19:07. You spend several minutes lying in bed staring at the **ceiling fan** relaxing from the adrenaline that awoke you before sliding out of the sheets. You note the piles of dirty dishes and wrappers scattered around your room and sigh, trying not to remember that trash isn't collected for another four days. You shut the door to your closet, trying not to acknowledge the smoky tendrils[[ |burning]]escaping it—you're a little bit late, it's not like you've got time for that.
The contents of your dresser leave something to be desired, so you sniff test a few shirts from the hamper and the floor to get dressed. A [[book]] walks like an accordion over a pair of underwear. You put laundry on your to-do list...behind the dishes, grocery shopping, [[homework]], and unclogging the bathroom sink.
You throw everything you'll need to leave into your backpack, lunch and all. A bruised apple still tastes like an apple. A small blessing that you found your keys in the fridge next to the lunch you made, even though they shouldn't have been there. The time on the **kitchen clock** reads 01:33. You're quite late now. But you still need to [[brush your teeth.]]](if: $wake is 3)[It is morning. Time to get up. You feel suspicion as you narrow your eyes at the clock. It reads %x:10. You spend several minutes lying in bed staring at the ceiling wondering if you should leave before removing yourself from the sheets. You note the **curtains** fluttering in the breeze lilting through your window, trying not to remember. You shut the door to your closet, trying not to acknowledge the sounds[[—|not again]]you are late.
The contents of your dresser leave something to be desired, so you throw on a shirt from the hamper. A [[dryer sheet]] clings to a pair of your shorts atop your desk chair. You put laundry on your to-do list...behind the dishes, grocery shopping, homework, and [[unclogging the bathroom sink|drain]].
You throw everything you'll need to leave into your **backpack**, lunch and all. Crushed chips still taste like chips. A small blessing that you found your keys in the fridge next to the lunch you made, even though they shouldn't have been there. The time on the kitchen clock reads ww:01. You're quite late now. But you still need to [[brush your teeth.]]]
(if: $wake is 1)[The short-lived relief that the door you reach is unlocked is dashed away by the void greeting you behind it. You sway backwards to keep your momentum from throwing you in. Several [[horseshoe crabs]] tumble down into the **abyssal maw**, squirming in the air, until the specks of them become too far to see.
Whipping around, fear strikes you at the idea of being stuck between the chasm and the thing.](if: $wake is 2)[You're disappointed that the void [[remains.]] You step backwards to keep away from the edge. Some [[armadillos]] tumble down into the abyssal maw, squirming in the air, until the specks of them become too far to see.
There is a presence behind you. You should not have turned your back to it. A distorted shadow falls just to your right. You wonder whether you should **turn around** this time or not.](if: $wake is 3)[The void remains. Of course it remains. The pumpkins are still. There is a feeling of discontinuity. You kick a **pumpkin** over the edge into the abyssal maw. It doesn't feel very satisfying.
It is there. The shadow blurs to touch yours.]
(if: $wake is 1)[[[You see it.|Waking]]](if: $wake is 2)[[[You feel it.|Waking]]](if: $wake is 3)[[[There.|end]]]
(set: $wake to it + 1)
(set: $wake to 1)
(goto: "Waking")
The sheets have a distinct sensation. Your throat is dry. You have woken up, this time. [[You think.]]
(if: $wake is 1)[After quite some time, you manage to sputter your way to the parking lot. You stop your bicycle in a space and put up the **kickstand**. All the spaces are occupied by bicycles. You wonder if the bicycle racks are okay. As you turn to face the building, you notice that the ground is littered with countless horseshoe crabs. You pick your way over to the building, trying not to crush any of them.
Even once you reach the doors, you can still see the crabs scuttling off into the distance, and more of them coming onto the scene from the other direction. Offhandedly, you hope that there's a body of water nearby for them. You check the time: 12:12. You're very late.
An attempt to open the door proves futile. Maybe it's locked. Maybe there is someone close by that can let you [[inside.]] Moving with the sea of crabs, you circle around the building, searching. There is someone in the distance. You call out to them.
In the space between heartbeats, you fill with dread. They begin to turn to face you. You don't want to look. You do your best to push your way through the crowded ground back to the building. To a door. [[Any door.|Last]]](if: $wake is 2)[After quite some time, you manage to sputter your way to the parking lot. You stop your horse in a space and tie her to a rock. All the spaces are occupied by horses. You wonder if the stables are okay. As you turn to face the building, you notice that the ground is littered with countless armadillos. You pick your way over to the building, trying not to crush any of them.
Even once you reach the doors, you can still see the armadillos scuttling off into the distance, and more of them coming onto the scene from the other direction. Offhandedly, you hope that there's a **desert** nearby for them. You check the time: five o'clock. [[You're very late.]]
An attempt to open the door proves futile. Maybe it's locked. Maybe there is someone close by that can let you inside. Moving with the sea of armadillos, you circle around the building, searching. There is someone in the distance. You start to call out to them.
You think better. It would be wise to not draw any attention from it. You return to the door you think was the one that opened. You do your best to push your way through the crowded ground back to the building. [[Just to check it and make sure.|Last]]](if: $wake is 3)[After quite some time, you regretfully sputter your way to the parking lot. You stop your [[smeerp]] in a space and firmly instruct it to stay. All the spaces are occupied by smeerps. You wonder if the warrens are okay. As you turn to face the building, you notice that the ground is littered with countless pumpkins. You pick your way over to the building, trying not to crush any of them.
Once you reach the doors, you can see the pumpkins stretching off into the distance, as far as the eye can see in every direction. Offhandedly, you note that they are at least the **least odd** of the lot. You check the time: &m:nn. You're very, very late.
An attempt to open the door proves futile. It's locked. There isn't a person close by that can let you inside. Stepping around the sea of pumpkins, you circle around the building, watching. There, in the distance.
You look. You keep looking for some time. They begin to turn to face you. You realize you still don't want to look. You push your way through the crowded ground back to the building. To [[the door.|Last]]]
(if: $wake is 1)[You turn the faucet's knob and squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube and apply it to the brush. You rinse the brush. You turn off the faucet. (link:"You turn off the faucet.")[(link:"The faucet isn't turning off.")[The faucet won't turn off.]] (click: "won't turn off.")[You bite your lip, thinking of the water bill.]
Outside, your bicycle idles. You don't recall pressing the button on your key fob, but it's of no importance. The screen door sings John Cage's 4'33" behind[[ |hm]]you. You mount the bike and steer it towards the the street.
There is a thin layer of **lichen** crawling along the road at a glacier's pace. As you bike away, it continues to grow, while you can't seem to get any closer to it. You're still concerned for your lateness, even as the time on your phone reads (link: "3:04.")[(link: "3:05.")[(link: "10:32.")[3:04.]]]
You don't feel any farther along the road at all. You think you can still hear your screen door[[...|School]]](if: $wake is 2)[You turn the faucet's knob and squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube and apply it to the brush. You rinse the brush. You turn off the faucet. (link:"You turn off the faucet.")[(link:"The faucet isn't turning off.")[The faucet won't turn off.]] (click: "won't turn off.")[Oh well.]
Outside, your horse idles. You don't recall taking her out of the stable, but it's of no importance. The **screen door** sings Alphonse Allais' Funeral March for the Obsequies of a Deaf Man behind[[ |um]]you. You mount the horse and steer her towards the the street.
There is a thin layer of milk crawling along the road at a glacier's pace. As you gallop away, it continues to grow, while you can't seem to get any closer to it. You're still concerned for your lateness, even as the time on your phone reads (link: "3:04.")[(link: "3:05.")[(link: "3:06.")[1:04.]]]
You don't feel any farther along the road at all. You think you can still hear your screen door[[...|School]]](if: $wake is 3)[You turn the faucet's knob and squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube and apply it to the brush. You rinse the brush. You turn off the faucet. (link:"You turn off the faucet.")[(link:"The faucet isn't turning off.")[The faucet won't turn off.]] (click: "won't turn off.")[You also turn the opposing knob on. Just for kicks.]
Outside, your **smeerp** idles. You don't recall allowing it outside, but it's of no importance. The screen door sings Erwin Schulhoff's In futurum[[ |uh]]behind you. You mount the smeerp and direct it towards the the street.
There is a thin layer of slime crawling along the road at a glacier's pace. As you move away, it continues to grow, while you can't seem to get any closer to it. You're still concerned for your lateness, even as the time on your phone reads (link: "1:ss.")[(link: "2:ss.")[(link: "3:ss.")[ss:ss.]]]
You don't feel any farther along the road at all. You think about going home. You think you can still hear your screen door[[...|School]]]
Toilet paper, bread, laundry detergent, floss, milk, frozen dinners, lemonade, mushrooms, mushrooms, **mushrooms**, mushrooms, cow tongue cinnamon
Five-to-six page paper, double-spaced, Times New Roman twelve-point font, at least three non-Wikipedia sources.
You **wonder** how many of these you have written in your life.
Maybe there is more than just hair clogging your sink.
What made you believe otherwise?
There is a sense of urgency that you must make it inside.
You don't really remember what you are late for.
Their little legs flail in a mildly sickening manner.
You hope.
You only feel slightly bad that you are more upset about the armadillos than the crabs.
Okay, maybe you have a spare moment. Just to take a quick look.
As your hand curls around the edge of the door, there is a sound. Even as you hear it, you forget what it sounded like. Your stomach shrinks into a leaden ball.
There are too many eyes for it to only be one, and yet, here it is. You awaken, sitting bolt upright slicked in a layer of cold sweat.
That's weird. Maybe you have a spare moment. Just to take a quick look.
You duck down onto hands and knees, half-dressed, to peek under the hanging edge of the sheets.
It is coming. Your stomach shrinks into a leaden ball. You wriggle your way into the space under the bed instinctively as you hear it in the hallway. The **sheet** obscures part of your view.
There are too many eyes for it to only be one, and yet, here it is. You awaken, sitting bolt upright slicked in a layer of cold sweat.
As you continue on preparing to leave, more smoke wafts through the crack under the closet door. There is a woody smell emanating from that area.
You decide to open it again. Just to check.
As you're grasping the doorknob, you startle and pull it back. The knob is searing hot. You make the connection that there must be a fire in your closet.
Braving the heat, you pick up a discarded shirt to blunt the pain and take the knob again.
A wall of smoke drafts into your face, followed by a white-hot view of endless fire. There is **no** satisfaction from knowing that you were right.
You awaken, sitting bolt upright coated in sweat and overheating under the blankets.
You pick up the walking book to look at it, but all the words seem to be shifting jibberish. The informational images don't really convey anything useful, such as a dead fish floating in a river surrounded by litter and debris. You put the book back down, and it slinks away.
You're not really sure why this seems funny to you.
It is a beautiful rendition.
Something about this seems just a little bit off to you.
You are penalized for acknowledging the sounds. You shouldn't have noticed the sounds. As you turn your back on the closet, the sounds intensify. It is too late for you to ignore the sounds.
Your stomach shrinks into a leaden ball. Should you turn to face it? Would you be better off not knowing? You want to close your eyes, but you can't seem to make your eyelids work.
It is something quite wrong, and yet, it is. You awaken, sitting bolt upright slicked in a layer of cold sweat.
Smells familiar and comforting. Plain, clean linen scent.
Its antlers are looking particularly velvety soft today. You tell it so, and it preens. You feel pretty certain that is a sign of happiness, or at least acknowledgement.