The alarm clock blasts Legend by Drake at five in the morning. A time before the crack of consciousness and existence begin to turn the ever-constant wheel of life. Waking from the bedside of death and isolation as my body returns home. I grab the phone lazily and dismiss the alarm. Reality stares me in the face with that and-where-were-you-last-night look as my feet touch the ground and the shadows envelop me in their comfiest blanket yet; the spirits of the night trying desperately to lure me back to the land of dreams. My eyes remain closed as my third eye is wide awake. Dreaming dreams incomprehensible to human consciousness let alone myself.
My brain fights its way to consciousness, but the ancestors won’t let go. One breath and my eyes shoot open. Abject darkness surrounds me. The sun is nowhere to be found as the streetlight’s light barely makes it to my room window, and I can see the silhouette of my basketball shoes sitting on top of the boxes they were brought in, lined up horizontally. The streetlight makes the darkness of my closet appear endless, as if Freddy Kruger’s gonna jump out and claw my face in half or maybe something different might jump out. Just a claw, perhaps? Or the green eyes you’d find on a black cat might appear from the depths of unknown and possibly malevolent entities. Who knows? Maybe if one stares long enough they’ll see something, but I’m not gonna sit and find out. I have a day to live out.
The shadow’s blanket falls gracefully from my back as I, and my brain, push toward consciousness. I crack my neck to realign myself and retie the thread that binds brain to body. I look left as the mirror on my door reflects darkness, and the shape of my keyboard I keep boxed behind it stacked with music books, a charger, and sustain pedal. I walk toward the possible portal to an alternate universe and examine myself in my purest form. A silhouette. An entity that has no persona and leaves itself bare for the world to ignore. An entity that recognizes itself as a stream of consciousness disguised as a human being, and lives out every day in abject banality and repetition, trying to achieve automaticity in all aspects of life as all consciousness requires is a steady and continuous flow . . . an endless flow.
My left hand finds the doorknob and twists the lock as it has so many times; thus, opening the door to more darkness. A nightlight shines dimly in the bathroom, and reveals the silhouettes of combs, brushes, and other cosmetics as I walk from my room to the bathroom. The door closes apathetically as the sound echoes through the apartment. I look myself in the mirror one more time before turning the lights on. The entity that was previously in its purest form is now obscured by the nightlight to the left. Half its face embraced by habitual darkness, the other illuminated to partially reveal the brain’s conception of what I look like. Eye, nose, mouth, ear. One half of the brain’s conception of the persona it naturally perceives and prepares for the world. My left hand finds the light switch at the appropriate moment and flips it on; thus, the false entity is revealed. Aged by boredom, weary from banality, and indifferent towards what stares back at me. Not the best-looking person in the world, but, it just may get the job done one day.
I get my towel from the rack, place it on the toilet, walk over and turn on the shower, and strip naked then jump in. The hot water feels like gentle slaps as it rapidly washes down my back. My body isn’t fully awake yet. The blood is just starting to circulate and the juices are starting to loosen and flow throughout. Fifty thousand thoughts, coming and going from my head at immense speed. My brain clocks in, and starts sorting them into their appropriate sections: Meaningless, Ideas for Novels, Curious, How the day is going to go, etc. I grab the washcloth and soap then rub them together. I wash myself thoroughly as if I had all the time in the world, as time starts to mend and mesh as steam distorts it almost completely.
I stand in contemplation. Not particularly deep, but contemplation nonetheless, thinking about the meaning of it all; what does it mean to be human? To be mindful in a mindless society. There are also thoughts of ideas, characters to create and bring to life to share to the world. Funny, a stream of consciousness conceiving and creating humans for the entertainment of others who call themselves human. Pretty much. I rinse myself off and squeeze out the washcloth, sweep the body hair down the drain, hang the washcloth on the rack and turn off the shower. Blood is flowing fluidly and my mind is awake; however, my face is still encrusted with the scars of apathy and indifference. I dry myself off and wrap the towel around me, and grab the scrubber by the tub to sweep the remaining hair down the drain. I grab my clothes, put them on the toilet seat, and clean my face and teeth.
Now, with the scars of indifference and apathy hidden by the cleanliness of my face, I grab my clothes and return to my room and close the door. Ah, the darkness. I throw my clothes toward the laundry bag stashed in the corner (I’ll tend to that later). I walk over to the lamp at the right corner and flick it on. The light is dim, but strong enough to illuminate the room so this body can see what it’s doing. I unwrap the towel and spread it overt the bed then I look to my dresser and reach for the cocoa butter lotion, open it, and begin moisturizing myself.
When finished, I open the drawers for underwear, promptly choosing black boxers and t-shirt then putting them on. I close the drawers and open bottom one, looking for the perfect socks to wear, and, of course, they were black. I look to the closet and spot black cargo jeans, and walk to them. I grab them and put them on. I look to the dresser mirror, where the belts hang next to each other. I grab the black one and slide it on.
Fully clothed, I look to my boots and calculate quickly which ones I’m going to wear; I choose the waterproof boots and put them on. I go to the dresser again and pick up a bottle of cologne and spray myself. I put the bottle down and grab the jewelry pouch beside it and take the jewelry out. I put the beads around my wrist and the necklace around my neck. I look myself in the mirror, an imitation of my true form. Messy hair, scruffy beard, two thick wrinkles outlining my face, and a black/Irish nose to top it off, making me look like a gangster from 1940’s Harlem.
My stomach growls. I open the door and walk to the kitchen. Oatmeal and Ramen noodles are the only thing in the house. I walk towards the sink and grab a bowl then fill it with water. I put the oatmeal in the microwave for two minutes, press start, and opened the cabinet and set the sugar aside. I go to the refrigerator and reach for the oatmeal and set it next to the sugar. The microwave beeps as the two minutes are up. I go over, get the mitts, open the door, and take the bowl out and set it next to the oatmeal and sugar. I grab a tablespoon from the sink, open the oatmeal and started scooping it in until just the right amount fills the water. I open the sugar and do the same. I stir the oatmeal thoroughly then go and sit down at the table and eat.
After that, I put the oatmeal and sugar back to the cabinet and top of the fridge. I go back to my room, get my water bottle, go back to the kitchen, open the fridge, take out the pitcher of filtered water, set the bottle down and open it then pour. I put the pitcher in the sink and start refilling as I close my water bottle and take it to my room then place it in my bag. The time says 6:00am. The shadows are waning. They’ll be back. The sun is starting to win its battle with darkness; thus, making the light of the lamp unnecessary so I turn it off. The darkness wanes and so does my true form, this false conception referred to as human remains.
I walk back to the closet and grab the black sweater on the far left then put it on. I shroud myself in black, not to be down with the crowd, the pack, but to maintain some part of myself. The shadows being the only thing to ever embrace my presence completely and indiscriminately. I return to the closet, quickly becoming illuminated by the morning sun, and grab the black jacket on the left and put it on. I walk to the nightstand, grab my cell, the headphones and keys then place them appropriately. I grab my bag, make sure I have everything then head out the door.
As darkness wanes and the sun begins to rise. First sight at seven, and first shine at nine. The darkness breaks, and there’s nothing left to say. In a world of color that hides the truth, shrouded in gray. . .
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