Part 1: Recognition

Tick…Tick…Tick…Beep-Tick-Beep-Beep-Tick-Beep-Tick

Ansel awoke to darkness.

Tick-Beep-Beep-Tick-Beep-Tick

Pain shot through his temples, pulsing with his heartbeat and the electronic bleeps coming from behind. Every sound sent shock waves through his head in the agonizing darkness. The inky black air made him wonder if he was still dreaming. He didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there, nor could he understand the dark, which swelled around him. All he knew for sure was that he was lying down and his body ached.

He attempted to get up, pushing with his hands against the floor, or maybe it was a bed, he wasn’t sure. Every time Ansel pushed, his upper arms and thighs fought back and the pain in his head grew stronger as his heartbeat elevated in panic. He gave a yell, and all that came out was a dry croak. He now noticed how thirsty he was. He swung his hands wildly trying to figure out where he was. A bed. He could feel the edges of the mattress. No blankets. He sunk his fingers down towards his legs to try to loosen the bonds that were keeping him from getting off the bed. He grimaced as he stretched his arms, feeling a new wave of pain surge through his head. He continued to stretch as far as his arms would go; hands feebly grasping at nothing until all of his strength was consumed and the throbbing in his head overtook his thoughts. All the while, a torrent of sound washed through his head as the bleeps shot by with feverish pace. A dizzy spell came over him and he wished to God that he could sit up straight.

Tick…Tick…Tick…Tick

That goddamned clock. It never stopped. It set a perfect rhythm for the electronics behind him. As he thought about this he began to feel sick again. It passed after a few seconds. Four to be exact. A long four seconds that was counted off by the clock somewhere near him. It reminded Ansel of the clock in his office at work. Everyday he sat behind his aluminum desk, watched as the seconds expired and the sun moved westward across the sky outside his crusty yellow window.

He tried to relax as best he could, trying to stop the pain that seemed to be fluttering around him, poking him all over his body and punching him in his temples. He still couldn’t see anything, yet his eyes were wide open. He opened them up as far as he could and tried to peer through the dark and find any light he could, but there was nothing. He softly patted around his midsection and felt a thin material covering him. It felt like cotton, but it was stiff like burlap as he twisted it between his middle and index finger.

Ansel went back to relaxing. It was all he could do at this point and then began to try to retrace his last moments before waking. He drifted deeper and deeper into a restless sleep, piecing together the day.

He remembered waking in the morning with harsh sunlight drifting through the blinds. Fingers of dust hung in the air and the smell of booze was thick everywhere around him. He’d been on a bender for the past four days, drinking, fighting, smoking and wasting (or was it enjoying) his hard-earned vacation time. He rolled over in his bed, reaching for the last Marlboro out of his pack. God, did he ever regret last night. But he couldn’t really remember last night, so how could he regret it? The only thing he had to remember the night by was a headache highlighted by swirls of nausea, which was tearing him to shreds in his stomach and his head, more specifically his temples. He had to get to work somehow though. Although his vacation wasn’t over, it was still a paid vacation, and he had his next paycheck waiting for him at the personnel desk where the pudgy twenty-year-old intern with the cute face would give it to him with a smile. That smile was enough to get his jets burning. He’d get a little piece of her someday.

He rolled a leg over the side of the bed, and then followed it with the other leg. He was still lying down, fearing the change in altitude that would inevitably come if he ever got the balls to lift his head.

“On three. One…two…three.” Nothing. He was still lying down, wrapped naked in a sheet as a case of the shivers struck him. He shook them off, feeling the sickness hit his head again. He wanted a glass of water. His mouth was sending his brain visions of an arid desert, and far off in the distance, in the direction of his apartment’s bathroom, was an oasis. On the edge of that oasis was the pudgy little intern, beckoning him to come and enjoy a nice cool glass of water.

This was too much. He raised his forehead slowly and his body followed suit, and he sat up. The colors washed out of view brought his world into black and white and an intoxicating aroma filled his nose. The world went black.

Tick…Tick…Tick-Beep-Beep-Tick-Beep…

Ansel returned from sleep, twisting against the bonds that held him down.

I was hoping you would be awake soon,” said an aged, soothing voice.

To be continued...