Waking Up

He was plucked from oblivion by a searing alarm clock.

He gained consciousness quickly and the first thing he noticed was that he was tired. Exhausted.

In a flood his dreams rushed to him swiftly, all at once. Elbows pushing sharply, he dragged himself to a sitting position and went through each memory one by one, exploring it to its extremes, testing it, smiling.

He glanced cursorily at the window. Curiously. It was closed. He shut his eyes for a second and imaged it looked down to mossy rock like that monastery he was looking at in Bhutan.

Out of bed he rose. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, blinking heavily. He tried to look at this reflection in his irises. All he saw were wrinkles.

He reflected upon how he was stuck in this isolated place. It terrified him that life outside was passing quicker than the little birds he used to chase as a boy.

Its consequences were unknown to him. The more details you know about any alternative situation, the more painful your past pasty passiveness becomes. But he did not know much and many would have looked at him enviously as he shrugged and went down the stairs for breakfast.