A Little Vanilla Dressing

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, lived a young man. It was approximately 4:30 AM, on a cool, quiet, October night. The young man slept soundly, occasionally shifting, randomly, as if playing Simon Says in bed. A half hour later, the young man was still sleeping, soundly. As he slept, the overhead fan whirled silently. As the clock ticked five, nothing happened. One hour later, however, the festivities began.

At approximately 5:54 AM, the young man's temporal lobe was filled with stimulus, arousing his body to action. By instinct, the young man jumped out of bed, quickly dashed to the other side of the room, and flipped a small green switch, stopping the auditory arousal immediately. It took another thirty seconds for the young man to realize that he had indeed, woke up. It was during these thirty seconds that the young man knew nothing, was nothing. Was nothing but a mere reaction. An instinct. During our precious thirty seconds, the young man's actions required no thought. Repetition and practice was all it took. After these thirty little vanilla seconds, he woke up.

The young man started to realize where he was, what he was. The young man could sense his body was tired, not quite ready for an attack. If a killer entered the room, the young man would be powerless to stop him. The killer would attack from the closet, stabbing the young man in the chest. Upon realization of his wound, the young man would start to fade, into the distance, away from consciousness. Falling to his knees, the young man would decide to yell, in desperate hopes that a cop would be around the corner, in the living room. Alas, this is but a mere speculation. There was no killer in the closet; just a few clothes, a laundry basket, and old containers, filled with rags.

Another thirty seconds passed. The green and purple alarm clocked flashed 5:55 before the young man's eyes. Feeling lost, he stumbled to the lights, flicking two switches simultaneously. One up, one down, two very different effects. Light filled the room, illuminating once forgotten objects (such as the young man's memory). At the same time, not too far away, the air in the room started to settle. The fan slowed, ceasing the steady flow of life. Closing the door, the young man suddenly felt safe. Behind doors, behind darkness; alive.