Cipher

One

My hands are shaking and I tighten my grip on the pillow. My head is screaming at me. It should too. It has a right to do so.

"Mojo," I whisper his name, my eyes wound shut.

Another wave of agony.

I groan again. It takes me a while to calm down, as reality forces the dream off my mind. And another moment too long to realize what actually woke me up. It's the door to my wretched little hovel that I call home. Someone's banging their fist on it- hard, as if unsure. Yes, no fancy movement sensing doormats here at my home.

There wouldn't be any, even if I were able to afford them; I find them overrated. Though for now, I cannot actually afford a decent doorbell. Some thought should be spared to that, I realize as I stare up at the wall on my side, my erratic heartbeat calming with time.

I close my eyes again. Some other day perhaps.

The person keeps jamming away at the door, making the whole flat rattle. What little peace that remained inside these despairing walls has been disrupted. I want to kill him. Her. Whoever the hell it is who suddenly decided to show up.

I lift my head from the pillow, my arms still wound around it and open my eyes. My room is filled with weak bluish daylight, and my ears catch the sound of drizzle pattering outside. The rain will be back in a few hours. I rub my face once and wait for the incessant banging to halt. I wait one whole minute. It doesn't stop.

This is some way to punish me, dear mind. Is this a hallucination?

My brain doesn't bother to answer.

I get off the mattress and grab a t-shirt from the chair filled with clothes and wear it on as I pad barefoot across the room to the door, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.

I yank the door open. "What is your problem, man?"

A guy dressed in a green cotton shirt with a brown ugly jacket stares at me, dumbly, standing in the corridor. His protruding belly proudly evades my personal space, since it seems he has been standing flush against the door.

Although I can barely open my eyes, I know for sure I've never seen him in my life.

"What?" I snap again in irritation. If he is going to continue to stay that dumb in front of me for more than twenty-six seconds, I'll lose it and give in to the urge of becoming a murderer.

He closes his mouth and opens it again, his look of unease increasing in depth by the minute.

"You-" he stops and clears his throat, "you are Mr. Edison?"

I stare at him. "Yes."

"Well, Mr. Edison, it seems- apparently, your name came up when we were looking for a rider. For the Marshall Ueva, that is." He peers at my face with wide eyes as if to make sure I am indeed listening. "We decided to see if you were still up for the job..."

My dear friend, it seems, is worried about my financial state. 

But I want to punch the guy, right in the big protruding belly of his and by the way he takes a hesitant step back, he figures as much. "Just- get outta here."

I slam the door to his face before he can add anything to that and head back to bed.

Lying on my back, I watch the old-fashioned ceiling fan creaking as it slowly rotates, giving necessary air to cool my head. I cannot fall back to sleep now with the anvil's strikes on my brain. I get up and throw the t-shirt off me once again. I take a shower, and it calms my head to a degree. I take two killers without water and go to the window to watch the bleak world outside. The sky is a sickly blue, something akin to a bruise- a dying thing with its life draining out of it, one drop at a time, a million times over.