It occurred to Tom, which is to say that at the time his first thought was that there is a great deal of a difference between waking up, and suddenly finding yourself awake. For Tom, at that time, it seemed to be the latter of the two.
Where is this place? He wondered, peeling his head off of the old leather couch he was laying on. The leather was old, unkempt and forgotten; looking about the room he saw much of the same thing. The same aging lines which permeated the leather couch like an old man’s face crept into the torso of the room. Overhead a single flickering light bulb shrugged slightly before turning off. The room was old, unkempt and forgotten.
Sitting up straight now Tom stared at the only light left to be found in the now darkened room. The yellow triangle faded in and out of proper vision; subconscious geometric patterns of triangles all dancing to the ecstatic sensory input.
“Let’s go”
Tom found himself surprised to hear the words, he glanced around himself in the dark for a moment. He was right though, and this brought a small smile to his weary face; pulling himself to his feet he made for the light.
Am I underground? In a second story? What am I on? Where is Bianca? These questions and more pointed and laughed within his head as he trudged down the mundane hallway. There was a door at the end, it looked familiar so he made for it. Lit by more flickering bulbs the collective light dismissed the pathetic man stumbling beneath it like a group of prostitutes.
Mass paranoia seemed to gather about the door as Tom reached for it. He stopped. It screamed from the other side, inaudible random words stretched his perception in opposing directions. What might lay beyond this door? The fact that he would have to already know somehow danced about but Tom dismissed it. After staring at his hand for a length of time on the door he finally saw it begin to move on its own – an ominous sight.
Behind the door was a large kitchen of sorts. Fluorescent lightning flickered in the room, the different surface areas briefly nodding as introduced to Tom’s eyes. A fraction more bright than the dismissive bulbs in the corridor, the kitchen’s light overlapped these rays to produce a mental friction which made Tom close the door.
“B-Bianca?”
Pathetic. The stammering voice of some lovable loser confused by his own hands. Still, he wondered where she was.
Ignoring most of the kitchen Tom made his way through the only other exit; an opening to another corridor, there was the sound of music emanating from the end. At first it sounded faint, but looking down Tom could see the intense vibrations running across his hand. At least, he thought he could.
Passing several closed doors along this corridor he finally reached the room at the end. Different from the others, it was well lit by a warm yellow flame produced by the fixture overhead. A couples of couches slept amongst the liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia while a familiar radio blared out some lonely techno song.
Glancing towards the opposite end of the room he could see a familiar looking door, outside of which the dark streets awaited. Sure he could have just slept at this house but it was old, upkept and forgotten – everyone had moved on. Besides, these days he didn’t find himself going to sleep so much.