“Pivot, PIVOT!” I hear the sounds of my TV, blasting in the other room. I think to my self, “Fucking stupid cat, he must have sat on the remote again!”
In my half awake state, I turn myself over to get out of bed, I tumble to the ground. It was a lengthier fall than I had expected.
I look up and think, “I just fell from a bunk bed, a bunk bed? Wait... where the hell am I?”
Everything is unfamiliar, “How much did I drink last night?” My inner monologue continues.
I rubbed my head and looked around, “Nothing looks remotely familiar.”
I hear rumbling to my right- the bottom bunk. I pull myself up off the ground, using the bottom bunk as stability.
“AHHHHH” a girlish whale comes from the bed. “Who are you?! My voice, what happened to my voice, what is this place?”
There I am laying on the ground staring at a girl on the bed, she couldn’t be older than 20. Her strikingly bright green eyes, glaring at me. Her mussy, curly, brown locks in a half hazard bun. She is wearing a gray college shirt with the words ‘Stanford’ printed on it.
I open my mouth to speak, “I’m sor-“ the voice, it’s not mine, it’s unfamiliar. It’s, it’s... a woman’s voice. I look down at my hands, thin with painted black nails. A dark blue ring on my thumb. My eyes, my eyes? Shift to my feet, also dainty, hanging from my ankle was a chain. There was a charm hanging from it with the letters, B.W. engraved on it. I realize I haven’t any pants on and my legs. My legs? Shaved and smooth. Who am I?
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“Daniel! DANIEL!” My wife screams for me from the kitchen, “Dinner is ready!”
I flip the foot rest on my Layzee Boy, grab my beer & holler back, “I’m coming woman, hold your horses!”
It’s been a long day at work, I work a very menial 9 to 5 job as an insurance adjuster. The hours sitting at a desk everyday has certainly changed my physically over the past few years. My once agile, athletic body has formed into what people would call a ‘Dad bod.’ My once full head of heat from my metal head days is receding and graying.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I smell a familiar dish. “Spaghetti again, it must be Tuesday.”
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I’ll finish if anyone is interested, this is my first time writing here. It happens to be my dinner time.