One Morning in a Dark Room

Waking up without realizing we're in the same world is great. But not for me, and probably you, too. We'll wake up in the same world, undoubtedly. We'll wake up seeing sun rises and listening birds whistling and looking others going to work. Silly stuff, but these what make us alive, everything moves even for poop.

That morning was usual, boring and flat. That time, sunrise was only a phase while everyone should do what they have to do, and when it set, the life circumtances would be different. I woke up accompanied by a glass of milk and a Flash Rebirth comic, it was great by the way, I mean damn, Flash has family, fast-runners that assemblied in one place with same red-gold costumes. After enjoying milk and Flash, I took a shower and prepared to do what I had to do.

I went to my room from rest room, slowly. "Breakfast's ready, honey." Yelled my mom downstair. I always hate that stupid shout. Like there was an evil dragon vomited me out of a huge blaze. No answer, just quiet wind from outside of the second floor. I was still walking to my room, which was dark because the curtain was closed.

I arrived at my room asking, "Hello, dark room, is there a place I can wake up except here?" No answer, just silence. I know I was stupid that time, but who the hell cared. "Honey, breakfast." That shout again, damn it. "You're gonna late if you're not coming down and eat it." I tried to be patient again with no answer.

I was wearing brown short pants and a blue-sky cloth, and was looking up to the ceiling. "Lamp, or maybe you Oasis--I mean their poster--would you answer my question? Is there another place for me to wake up?" No answer. Shit, I know not all things move, even to answer my simple question. Then I lit a ciggarete and smoked it deeply. "What are you doing there, buddy? Let's take breakfast." She yelled again. "Shut the fuck up, you moron!" I cried with no voice. "Honey, is something there? I'm coming." Holycrap. I trod my ciggarete and wagged my palm to fade the smoke. "Hey, c'mon answer my goddamn question fast. Hurry, dark room. Is there any place except this disgusting room for me to wake up every morning? Is there? Why should I stay here for the rest of my life? Why? Did God send you? Did He order you to be quiet when someone ask something important?" 

Knock knock. "Are you ok, honey?" Asked my mom from outside of the room. She  opened the door and stared at me with bewildered eyes. I was smiling, and said, "Absolutely, mom. I'm always ok as usual. Every morning is a new paper to be written, like what daddy said." "Really? You ok?" She asked me again silly question. "Ya, just pretending to be quiet for...hmm, yoga." "But you're standing." "Standing yoga, then." "Wanna breakfast?" "Oh, I almost forget to do that important thing in our life. Let's take breakfast then, mom." I was stepping down to downstair and still waiting the answer from my dark room. Mommy still stared at me confused, but few minutes later, she acted as usual, as a mother who tried to care to everything in a house. Everything.

Till now, I'm still waiting the answer from my dark room. My age is 58, and the first  time that question came when I was always picked up by school bus every week days to do boring stuff in elementary school. My dad was gone since I was that age--I don't wanna tell you the exact age, maybe you can guess. And ya, before his death, he always said, "Every morning is a new paper to be written." And he always writes new things after his death in my room without appearing himself, just comes writing on a new blank paper with a shining black ink in my head. Wanna know what he always writes till now? He writes a memoir about his bloody death face while trying to kill his son, but failed and was being killed by him wildly. And his son is me who always tries to find other rooms to wake up every morning.