Worry

The summer night was warm and sticky. The clothes stuck to the young man’s body as if trying to incase him in the cotton fabric. A blanket laid over his midsection adding to the heat but is needed for the comfort it brings. He lies in the dark night by the open window, the breeze blowing his hair and cooling the sweat on his forehead. His eyes stare up at the ceiling fan, it’s blades spinning in a blur.

It’s going to fall, he thinks. The fan is going to fall and I won’t be able to pull my legs out from under it in time. I’ll die of blood loss.

At the office building he sits and types away his documents. Hour after hour, he spends his time listening to his headphones. He’s heard this song too many times before. He doesn’t like it anymore but he’ll mess up his rhythm if he changes the song. He can hear inaudible voices through his music. His co-workers are talking. They’re talking about him. He knows it. If he only would pause the music he could hear what they’re saying.

It’s not worth it. He tells himself. Work needs to be done. Work is for Working.

It’s raining. Hard.

The roads are going to flood. He thinks while he drives back to his apartment. I’ll get stuck in my car along with everyone else. He glances at the silver mini van in the lane next to him. Women and children first, they’ll leave me to drown and save them. I’ll just be a necessary death.

The headache came while he was watching television. It blurred the edge of his vision and drained him of the last bit of his energy. The lights had suddenly gotten brighter and he turned them off and went to bed. He lay awake with sweat coating his body and turning his clothes damp. He clutched a pillow to his chest and his blanket lay on the floor with an exception of a corner.

I have a brain aneurysm. He thought slowly. I’ll be dead before I wake up. I’ll never wake up. This is it. I’m going to die.