I was out of my fucking mind. I looked at the clock which was located right above this abstract painting, it read 2:30 A.M, only ten minutes have passed by. Holy crap, it felt as if four hours have passed by. My eyes trained down to the painting below the clock. The canvas glistened with yellows and blues which were splashing out of perfectly shaped circles. I swear to God the circles were rotating. Left, right. Right, left. I lifted my left arm up, reaching toward the painting, trying to grasp it. But I couldn't grab the goddamn painting. I was too far away, I'm always too goddamn far away.
Before I knew it, I was on my own two feet; just now becoming aware I was ever sitting. I began walking towards the painting at an extremely slow pace. Everything was so goddamn slow- it was starting to piss me off. After what seemed to be ten hours, I made it to the painting.
I stood there for awhile, in silence, studying each rotating circle. I gently traced the moving circles with my fingertips. Then I began to wonder how the painting was ever created. If the artist used a compass to achieve perfectly round circles, if he or she just threw a can of paint at the canvas and continuously outlined the spheres; in order to make the colors look three-dimensional. Then something began to bug me. What if this painting was never finished? It didn't look finished to me. It needed more. I couldn't put my finger on what it needed; I just knew it needed something.
The damn painting was starting to depress me, so I went into the kitchen. I was starving. I opened the fridge finding half-emptied condiments, a gallon of milk, orange juice and leftover spaghetti. There's no way in hell I was going to eat the leftover spaghetti. It's been in the fridge since last Wednesday. Today is Saturday. I decided that I was going to the nearest fast-food joint, which would be In-N-Out. If you wanted to know the truth, I hate places like In-N-Out. Always overly populated with phonies. And I swear to God, there's always someone there you know. At least one person. No matter the time of day, there's always someone there, no kidding. It pisses me off.
I just prayed no one I knew was there. If I did end up seeing someone familiar, I'd actually have to talk to them and I really didn't want to have to do that. I hate small talk; the whole conversation is just fake and pointless. Plus, I could really careless about how the other person is doing. I have my own laundry to fold, I don't need someone else's load too.
Walking out of the kitchen, I make my way to the bathroom. I checked myself out in the mirror; I looked and smelled like absolute shit. My hair was slightly messy, which didn't bother me much. What bothered me the most was how red my eyes are and how badly I reeked of marijuana. But I was extremely calm about it. Maybe I should take a shower, I thought to myself. I glanced over at the shower-head, with my mouth slightly open. "Fuck it, I'm fine." I say, talking to myself.
I walk out of the bathroom, grabbing my light gray lacrosse sweatshirt and the car keys on the way. After tossing on my sweatshirt, I grab my cellphone and slip into my sandals. I still felt like everything was laggy but hell I'm hungry so I really didn't care.
I opened the front door, stepping outside, breathing in the cool morning air. Everything was completely silent. It was as if there was no existence of various types of insects and or any type of animal in that matter. The moon wasn't out and no constellations either. The sky was painted black with no source of light. It made me feel lousy as hell, it really did.
I sort of started to pretend that a zombie apocalypse has occurred. I'm Daryl Dixon and I had to find my way to safety before the corpses devour me. I had to make it to sanctuary, so I began to run. The streets and sidewalks were empty and quiet; of course they were. The zombies probably gobbled everyone up and if people were still alive, they were probably hiding in tight spaces. What cowards. I began to slow down after running the fifth block, not that I was tired or anything, because I wasn't. In fact I have very good stamina, I really do. But my crossbow that was hanging down my back was starting to bother me. I have a real bad back, if you want to know the truth. Probably because of all the damn weights I lift, the sports I play don't help either. So I held my crossbow instead. I started walking, holding up my crossbow and pointing it in various directions, making sure everything was clear. Which everything was. It was strange, I thought I'd see some blood by now, but everything was clean. Too clean.