He woke silently with a startled jump and moved quickly to turn off the alarm clock. The obnoxious buzzing screeched loudly until he found the right button. With it turned off he reached up high clasped his hands and roared deeply as he stretched. The room was dark with only a few rays of luminescent light from the street lamp posts piercing through the window blinds. Everything regardless was a big blur. As if he was looking through goggles filled with water. He began to slowly yet methodically walk to the bathroom. He might have been momentarily blind but this was his house and he knew every niche and cranny. He breathed in sharply and let out a slow hiss as he processed the sharp pain penetrating through his big toe. He isolated the pain in his mind and pushed it deep into a dark recess of his mind. That was neither the first nor the last time he hit the chair as he made his religious walk to this bathroom in the early morning. Like every other morning he made a mental note to move the chair. His mental notebook if he actually had one would be just about full with the exact same note lettering every line. The door was ajar and when pushed it open was not with resistance halfway.
Undeterred he easily made his way through the opening. There was a stool in the way that he did not remember putting there. The light switch was on the wall above the stool that once again blocked his way. Blocked his legs but it was within reachable distance. "Strange" he thought. "The stool looks pink.." He did not own a pink stool. Come to think about it, he did not own a stool. "Very curious", he quickly flipped the switch and neither slowly nor quickly turned around. He was instantly taken aback at the pink and purple that greeted him. He also noticed simultaneously the flowery aroma in the air. He was understandably blank, reviled and profoundly confused. Now, he desperately needed his contacts. He needed all of his sense. He took a deep breath to collect himself and opened the medicine cabinet. 0He let out a loud whooshing sigh of relief as he spotted the contact case where he left it. He did not bother to look at any of the other miscellaneous items in his medicine cabinet. Even without contacts he could tell they were not his. He only hoped that the contacts were his. Several moments later he was looking almost as if through different eyes. He stared at himself in the mirror for a second. He noted the small gaunch that never seemed to want to leave, no matter how many sit ups he endued it with. The thick coat of hair reaching from navel up to what have been his Adam's apple if not for the razor. Taking a slow deep breath he began to think.
It was weird, yes, strange that a pink stool he had never seen had appeared by seemingly magic overnight. N, over a few hours sleep had not come until almost four. Glancing down at his wrist watch he confirmed that it was 7:09. Reaching out he again opened the medicine cabinet. AS he feared he was greeted by a litany of unfamiliar products. All obviously female, half of which he honestly did not know what they were for. They were definitely a-femanet, of this he was sure. Shaking his head he closed the mirror door. He was not quite shell-shocked though he was a close to the line as you could get. The hot pink stool drew his attention again and a sudden loony though hit him. He briskly walked to the door, opened it, the stool was still blocking the door. He angrily reached down and yanked the chair up and tossed it backwards. Not caring if he broke some crazy kitchen chair. It was her fault for breaking in, moving in and quietly moving in all of her own effects. With the stool moved he walked over the fuzzy pink mat at the door. Still shaking his head, he would an atrocious bathroom mat like that. Crazy bitch had to be crazy. Where was all his stuff? He was still not quite upset yet. No, at the moment he was more than a little bewildered and a tad bit curious. This had to be some huge elaborate joke, but who? He just moved to Dothan a few weeks ago and knew only a few people. No one well enough for them to do something this elaborate. The sun was beginning to rise and there was a large amount of natural light peeking through. So he trudged down the hall that was so short that calling it a hall was a bit of a stretch. He entered an open door frame to his left maybe 3 paces away from his (this was his right? He was beginning to have his doubts) bathroom. The light switch was o his immediate left above his old raggedly but his own coach. He grasped and felt nothing. He moved his hand over the wall, feeling it out without looking. After several seconds he found the switch and turned the light on. Then proceeded to open his mouth and let his jay hang to his throat.
His room , no this could not be his home despite the fact the lay-out was the same. Nor the fact that this is where he woke up to the same buzz from the same alarm clock that woke him up every morning for God knows how many years. now. His gaze rolled over the crime scene as he attempted to take it all in. The prior night granted the place was a mess, but it was his mess. Moving boxes galore, regardless of the fact he had moved in 3 months ago. The old mushy couch that anyone would have resented having in their living room. But not him, no he picked it out himself from a nearby thrift store. It was his because he earned it. In its place was a sleek white leather couch with a matching love seat facing a gorgeous (he had to admit) at least 47" inch flat screen perched on a black generic t.v. stand. The 100's of movies placed on the side of the entertainment system was anything but generic. Each one would have cost at least 20 dollars and at a pawn shop would have fetched 4 to 5 dollars. It did not stop with his new expensive toys. No, it did not and everything was pink. No, that was a hot like it or fucking get used to it pink. Charles was not prone to headaches. Not for a long time anyways, but he felt the workings of one now. And something else was beating around in his gut. Fear rolled with anger. Not only did he have to be at work in 2 hours, but because of this clustermug he would be unable to do his morning run. The day had no chance of being all it could be without his morning jog. He sat down on his, no, some sinister being, entity, bitching couch. The lovely pink leather crunched as he sat. He propped his elbows on his knees and placed his head in his hands, muttering about nothing and sometimes everything. Opening his eyes he noticed the lan of his finger the thick fluffy hot pink carpet and began to laugh.
He had to laugh and not to keep from crying. To keep from breaking the t.v. that would cost him one months pay. There had to be a logical explanation to this, this travesty. If this was a cartoon there would be a luminous light bulb over his head because he was in that moment thunderstruck by an idea. He ran into the kitchen and came to an almost stop.Despite all that he just saw the power of suprisement still stopped him in his tracks. The tile in the tiny kitchen was pink. The fridge, cabinets, the table and two more stools all of them "God bless his heart" were pink. He walked purposely to the drawer next to the fridge where he kept all his loose mail. All the while pondering how such a monstrous job could have been completed in the short time that had elapsed during his slumber. The tile was not painted pink, it was no coat of paint. They looked as if they were infused with pink. Infused as if it came from the ground pink. As if it was a pink seedling planted in Gods good earth. Born to the brilliant warmth of our own perfect star pink. (?Wayward and bruised) through virtuous storm and wind. Lucky enough or fated to survive these of 4 legs and to grow into a beautiful bushy pink tree. Of which many; tile born and breed pink bloomed forth for the sole purpose of annoying the very haven from Charles head. He begun to rummage through the traditional unorganized old mail drawer. (some things had not changed and no the mail was not pink. And in a room of pure pink white mail was a surprise and a comfort) The rummaging became more desperate, more violent. his idea was collapsing on itself. What he wanted, no, expected to find and what he was finding were two horrendous different things. It was all his, every peace of mail was stamped with his name. Bringing it to his face he burrowed it under his nose crumpling it in desperate hope. "Oh, God it even smells like me," he shouted jumping backwards while dropping the letter.
He had made the classic mistake of assuming. He assumed that someone else letter would be in there. Then he could find this someone else name and began the process of finding her. Finding her and shaking some answers out of her. So he sat down not (?) his full with his haunch he plopped heavily on his pink floor. He was beginning to suspect horrible things. Horrible things. He crossed both his arms pulling his knees in close. He did not so much rest his head a bury his face in his forearms. He was attempting to block it all out. Block out everything that was happening as if hiding his face would remove it all from existence. He could block the physical sight but he could not cease the psychological groaning thoughts. This of course would and could be explained logically. This could not logically of occurred in a 3 hour time span. This raised many questions, presented many problems.
There were two options as he saw it. He raised his head slightly his forehead no longer resting on his forearms, his eyes aimed diagonally from the floor. He slowly opened his eyes. His right blinking open, his left squeezed shut. Gazing intently at the tile he considered the first option, the option that rested easy with his soul. Option one. The answer is illogical, he slipped into some girlish pink dimension. Where everything was a pink inclination. Ever as he mouthed it began to poke holes in his hypothesis. Such as the white leather couches, the big black flat screen. No, like many other ideas, this one felt and sounded horribly flawed when thought out. Charles once again burrowed his face in his arms and began to do something he assumed he outgrew. He began to sob. The next more viable option would not really be much of a surprise. It would verily explain a lot and was something of a suspicion he always had. This would only strongly suggest the merit in it. No, no he could not, would not believe it.
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