Dissociate

    Stan laid in his comfy bed, soft sheets and matching pillowcases, the morning light poured softly through the bedroom window. A woman’s hand crept around his waist and pulled tight. Half sleeping, he smiled and took the hand softly. He then rolled over to pull her in close, but his hand hit the wall and he opened his eyes. There was no woman next to him. He laid on his sheetless mattress in a dark, dank room. It was cold and empty.

    With a long and disappointed sigh, he looked up to his alarm clock. 6:59am. The number clicked over to seven o’clock, and began its abrasive call. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. Defeated, he watched it for a moment, then brought a heavy hand down onto the off button. Stan rolled onto his back, his leg hung off the bed and rested on the floor, he hadn’t even bothered to take off his work pants. There was a cold light that peeked through the blinds and to him it looked grey. With all his might, he sat up and pulled on his dirty shoes, which were taken off with careless haste. He could smell the rank old foot sweat. Stan didn’t like being barefoot in his new apartment. It was 400 square feet of dank carpet, even in the kitchen, and every inch was a little bit crunchy and a little bit stained.

    The studio boasted only two doors, the front and the bathroom, and neither one closed well. There was a distinct smell of heavy cleaning product that seemed suspiciously strong and sweet, as if it had won over whatever other smell existed, but at a terrible cost. The only thing new in the whole place was the horizontal-slatted blinds. 

    Stan turned on the tv and went to the kitchen, which he knew was no use. He kept no real food in there, only one fork, one steak knife and a handful of plastic spoons he’d taken from work. There were boxes of his things hastily packed along the wall, which he ignored as he had done for a few weeks since he had moved in. For a moment, he just stood there in the carpeted kitchen and stared emptily at the dripping faucet. A dark slinking brown hung in the corners of the porcelain sink, and a single bold hair poked out of the drain. Everything smelled lightly of mildew, especially the fridge, which he opened. Inside, it was mostly empty, the fluorescent light flickered. Stan grabbed two energy drinks which sat lonesome on the shelf, but before he closed the door he eyeballed the single box of chinese food. Hesitantly, he reached for it, but decided against it. Behind him the tv murmured on about the deadly and contagious flu virus that was causing the nation to shut down, despite the rise of people calling it a hoax and ignoring safety protocols. 

    He went to the bathroom, having tossed one can of energy drink into his open backpack by the door, and cracked the other one open with one hand. He stood in front of the mirror and took a moment to decide if he should shower and shave. Deciding against it, he took a crumby looking toothbrush from the off yellow bathroom counter and wetted it, giving his mouth a once over and rinsing with the energy drink. He spat into the basin, but the spit and water sat stagnant.  Stan went to the toilet, its seat in a near constant up position, and let out a long piss. The smell was rank and strong, it made him gag a little. He shook and zipped, grabbed his can and left.

    The tv announced the time, seven fifteen, and he realized he didn’t know where his work shirt was. He went to the boxes lining the wall and dug around in them, banging up against the fridge accidentally. Finally, he found it behind the refrigerator, dusty and almost stiff. Stan gave it a sniff and decided it was alright, so he gave it a shake and threw it over his shoulder. 

    He emptied the can in two drinks, tossed the can into the sink and grabbed his backpack. With some effort, he cracked open the front door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving his barren empty apartment to its quiet void. 

    Outside was bright, it was late spring and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. As he walked the sun belted down onto his shoulders and though his white undershirt kept his pale skin from burning, it was uncomfortably warm and he began to sweat. The whole world just continued on around him, bustling, despite the warnings to stay indoors and away from others. Stan didn’t really care either way. It couldn’t have been that bad if so many people were still out and about. His job at the local grocery store had recently picked up by people who were buying in bulk and the toilet paper section had been barren for nearly two weeks, but other than that it was all business as usual. Even the few times he had been out to the bar had been just as busy as it had been before. If there was a virus, it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, Stan thought.