(Part 1)
Note: Based entirely off true events. Prone to exaggeration through overuse of adjectives.
Alone in my room; my neck slightly choked by a thick burgundy blanket that softly billowed like a cloud in passionate love down the length of my rigged body and flowed like a royal gown as it swept the light pink carpet behind me. I walked in circles; my eyes closed and entranced in a living dream, swaying my hands and arms in front and around me like I was performing a mystical waltz to the sound of a salty ocean coming from a fluorescent neon green and orange glowing box, a miniature model jukebox, from the oaken square desk in the corner of my room. I was in a meditative ecstasy.
Time, for some inexplicable amount of time, had been erased from the natural bondage of time during my lonesome expedition through the distant destinations of my imagination. If it were not for the unquenchable nasal voice hoarsely squeaking from the man of the early morning talk show that interrupted the mouse's modest attempt to show me the free world of creative reflection, I would have continued to float on and over the rolling waves of harmonious frequencies that resonated in the isolated islands of my room and mind. But in fact, it was so, and sound of his self deprecating, self conscious-less voice was the damned herald of reality calling me to wake from my dream.
A sudden blast of ice laden gales halted at once the course of the ship that evidently was the personification of my dream. My eyes lifted slowly and remained half realizing to my shadowy room. Only a slight suggestion of a Sun had appeared over the golden red hills a few miles through the window across my sights; still not enough to convince the darkness to abdicate its throne. The neighborhood remained well comforted in sleep and unaware of a ghastly blanket of fog that was greedily molesting our freshly paved streets. It was cold and silent; absolutely pleasant.
I strode to the corner of the room where the harbinger of bitter truth continued to proclaim that it was indeed 5:15 in the morning. I looked to my bed with the intent of finding something, but I could not remember what exactly it was; only that it was a necessary tool if I were to do something I wanted to do. Inadvertently I became entranced by my cradle; a twin sized divan that could be spread flat like a casual bed or with a single forceful push could be transformed into a comfortable couch for three. It was not the ease of availability nor its potential complacent compliance to the whims of any occasion that I was admiring. It was the darkly tanned mattress itself that had my attention. More accurately, it was the imitation image of an outdated map of the old world that was stitched into its skin that I was captured by. Ancient nations, ports, seas, mythological monsters; all identified in Italicized Latin revealed to me an earth and its people of long ago times once considered present. It was remarkable; like looking upon the works of Da Vinci; I slept on a piece of art!
I followed the little depiction of a bird in mid-flight that appeared in seemingly random spots here and there that must have been a failed attempt to represent the direction of the migration of its flock until I came upon a long brown oval lump protruding from the Pacific Ocean. I Had discovered a monster of the sea! Short hairs the color of a dark rust shrouded its exaggeratedly tubular body. Large ears trailed the side of its long arrow shaped head and flopped lazily against the surface of the muddy waves. At the back end was a skinny hairy tail about the length of half an arm and on the opposite was a cherry sized black wet nose littered with thick whiskers like the cilia of an enlarged bacteria. A gem of a choker; black leather embroidered with shimmering stainless steel diamonds encircled the rolls of fat on its neck. Albino crystalline eyes were dotted in the center by an endless black hole and were rested strictly upon me. I could feel it dragging me into its abysmal well beginning with the fringes and hairs of my skin, then abruptly skipping the cold flesh underneath to tug directly at my soul.
The name of creature was well known to me. Bonaparte was its name. It was actually a he, and this was no monster of the sea; this was my best friend, my devoted companion; a wryly young dachshund, watching me for any signal that I may show that would express of my needing him at the moment. A good dog, slept only when I slept; awake for as long as I could bear it; never leaving me, altruistic to take part in the same vision as mine. And clairvoyant he had proven that day to be one his multiple skills, as the moment came when our souls met with one another through the portals of our eyes he lazily stood up and stretched, dragging the bottom half of his body as he came forward, revealing a red gasoline lighter in the place where he had been. If I had known any better the little boy had been waiting for this moment.
So I dared not disappoint either of our expectations as he had already surprised mine. I snatched the lighter that was warm from his body then opened the drawer of my side table and began to scrummage through all the useless litter inside that I hadn't the heart to throw as I could never know what time of what day I would ever chance upon needing their waste.
Two items I had retrieved from the treasure chest; a packet of cigarettes with four still left and all too seductive in their desperation to be kissed; and a bronze-red miniature tin box of Altoids-cinnamon flavored. A stack of unread books lay equally as untouched beside the desk. I grabbed the top one without any consideration as to the value of what may be inside, nor without any concern as to title or author. It was green though, if that compensates well enough for the reader's intrigue.
I sat down cross legged on my bed. Bonaparte creeped his way in the style as before to my side and snuggled himself in my blanket-come-robe. Methodically I opened only the cover flap of the book, as it was hard and well suited to the purpose. I brushed aside the graveyard of spiders and the dust that was like the dirt to our cemeteries. Once I had cleared the carnage and debris I brought forth the Altoid box and opened it carefully so as not to spill the contents inside.That being done as according to intention, I coaxed the dried buds into the crevice of the books and began the crush them into a fine almost powdery composition. A satisfactory amount was there, enough to replace the entire contents of a cigarette; more than I had in mind to use originally.
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