I should be writing.
I should be doing something productive but instead I sit here twiddling my fingers like an idiot monkey waiting to be shot into space.
Simon Hããt thinks to himself spinning a pen in his fingers. The damn computer froze he thought. He tells himself the computer froze, fooled himself to believe it so and shot a message to his professor late. He didn’t mind the lack of urgency shining in what he typed. It was the fact. The computer froze and he’d deal with the paper tomorrow. He ignored the buzz from his phone, likely the professor answering with vehement retort and inquiry, and shoved a cigarette in between his lips and reached for the window.
Simon Hããt liked his sticks of death, even splendored within the vapors in the night when the lights were low and the smoking mist whipped around his fingers and lapped at his tongue. There was something he enjoyed too much from this activity but Simon didn’t have much.
It was work, work, work. School and more work. He was peckish with the drain school brought that work brought that was his chaos of life. He’d managed a positive GPA (a whopping 3.2), he didn’t bring anything but the bare minimum.
With the window wide open Simon hauled himself out the second floor and stood stop the roof until he sat along the hanging ledge. He grabbed his lighter that was left in the drainage pipe. He wiped off the leaves, blew once or twice at the top and flicked.
The thought of school and the turmoil of finals was getting to him. He managed a good front but his time outside, alone, above the world, helped absolve these worries unlike that front, unlike the bullshit smile he showed the world. Taking the time to breathe in something of his own choice brought a kind of rebellious tone to life that couldn’t be taken away.
He sat there and pulled in at the death stick occasionally trying and failing at a smoke ring until he was about done until he saw something moving below.
There was someone hooded beneath the trees, standing there and Simon could see them looking up, watching him. He shood the figure away to no avail and started hissing at the dark figure. He begged for the figure to move and finally stopped. Simon decided to forget about it and go inside. He turned away but felt a creeping sliding halting chill come over him and heard the tree. He was climbing the tree!
Simon burst through the window falling on his face and slammed the window shut, latched it and grabbed the curtains throwing them over the window as quickly as can be done. He can see something dark out the window but refused to look closer and instead took to the hallway until a thought came to Simon.
What if his window was the only one shut? What if someone else in the dorm had their window open? What then? Simon stopped, held his breathe and crouched down…
Dream Dark Stories 