Dead Awake

Suddenly, quickly, the room feels colder. Yawning to defeat the morning, I wake and shift to clean myself off of the filthiness a prideful dream can leave on a man with an ego as large as mine. I start the shower and pass the mirror with disinterest, clambering for the heat residing in the life emitted from the shower head. That was fast, I feel fresh, but somehow no different than before. Hoping to evade the dreadful commute to the office, it soon comes to sense that Time will not work in my advantage; rather, I must leave early to seek that advantage and the time to begin would be right now. Almost at a leap, I enter the car and dissolve out of the driveway and recognize my place under the burning Sun; it is pleasant. The other vehicles on the road appear to be following me more than usual, at odd times disbanding the caravan to linger into their buildings of mutual hatred, for the brightest of men understand how much the creatures in the concrete jungle starve for their innards. Partially withdrawn, I hastily enter the parking lot and discover a single open spot: the handicap space, for those who are looked at more than others and somehow socially ignored. I resent the the fact but I confidently park in the only remaining place around and gather my files before entering the building I come and go no different past the hate that brews while inside its swathing dungeon.
Squeak! the dead cold invisible door creaks open to allow my passage into its still colder domain, reticent of its true nature though eager to disavow those who make partners with its walls. In a shocking stream of sense, my memory feels eerily disjointed - as though I am eternally familiar with this castle of greed, while still through its portal for the first time - now. I make it to the office I've on and off inhabited for years, only to realize it isn't mine and there are others behind the door, making transactions indiscreet. As amazing as the finding has propounded me to my displacement here, my first course of action relates me to my still-warm car outside and I use my excuse of a bad parking spot to remove myself from this place and seek refuge in my room asleep again.
Turning, pivoting, whirling, rotating, spinning, twisting, revolving, I make my way down the corridor and with an even larger leap, I enter the car and jet out of the lot with ease, returning to the stream with the rest of the school that makes its way through this deserted industrial park we call home in the night. I yawn.
As I angle the vehicle to turn down Memory Ln. I am entranced by its uncanny visage of safety, its eternal sinister groove in my mind. Coughing and wheezing from an abrupt aversion to what awaits me behind locked doors, I turn the key and cross the threshold. With a silent but deafening slam, the gate returns to rest and I quickly follow. Pacing down the hallway, I halt and notice the absence of pictures on the walls, the steadiness of the room, the lack of common aroma wavering through the chilling air.
I enter the bathroom to relieve myself but am cut short when I forget my objectives, my wandering eyes focus on the counter, the sink, not much else; so I leave. As with following a map, I unmindfully creep towards my destination; sleep calling though no living man may answer without succumbing to its seductive coo. I open the door and laugh, for before my lies my body, eroding to the stream of Time and the trickle of blood exiting cold wounds.
[Fade to black.]