300

The moment, a millennium.

The tear, an ocean.

Then the ever-night enveloped his mind.

Murky and dark and foul, the shadow squeezed itself into the very pores and orifices of his body-thing.

Writhing.

Jerking.

Stillness.

The light dimmed.

The dark became everything.

The sun rose.

The eye opened.

“da’fuck was that shit all about?”

“why can’t I have normal ass dreams?”

“am I supposed to just eat some cereal and go on about my damn day after that?”

“they said it would be a good thing to stop smokin’ weed at night, because bein’ high was keepin’ me from havin’ dreams at all.”

At least there was Sheila.

Mikhail yawned/stretched and slowly rolled out of bed.

6:58 a.m.

Mikhail could not remember if he had set the alarm or not. Rarely was an alarm even needed. Fleeting were the times when a full night’s slumber was had.

The dream of dying lingered a bit, but there was no time to reflect. There were showers to be taken. There were crowded ass CTA trains to be boarded.

Mikhail thought about how the idea of Death seemed more inviting than the idea of being compacted on the Blue Line train heading downtown on most mornings.

At least there was Sheila.

Shat out and showered, cleaned and clothed, Mikhail walked out the front door of his building onto the busy Avenue ‘pon which he lived.

Check internet.

“Damian Lillard dissin’ Shaq in a rap song?! Gotta hear that later.”

“huh?”

“da’fuck?!”

The green little man-thing locked Mikhail’s gaze with its silver eye-things.

A bolt of crackling light zapped its way from the shiny metallic gun held by the green little man-thing.

Mikhail’s body-thing collapsed upon the sidewalk.

At least there was Sheila.

Writhing. Jerking.

Stillness.

The light dimmed.

The dark became everything.

Gone.

(This piece of flash fiction was written for my ‘Intro to Writing as Art’ class at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Fall 2018, taught by Professor Krista Franklin. The assignment was to write a story in exactly 300 words.)