Mother's Song| A PRN Short Story

Two

BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!

My eyes pop open in an instant. Heart exploding with a thudding beat that may be heard five city block away, I leap up in my pile of blankets. I reach to the left to cut the sound of my pain with my palm as the alarm clock is silenced. Upon my newfound silence, I am met with a heap of relief. I fall back down in the blankets. "Geez." For an entire second, my eyes shut and my face sinks back down into my pillow. The relaxation does not last long as I come to realize that the clock beside me states it is fifteen minutes past seven o'clock. I clock into the office at seven o'clock on the dot.

Oh shit.

I jump up and out of my bed, frantically feeling around the blankets for my phone. I did not mean to fall asleep. I got caught up in all of those Prince videos. Honestly, God knows what time I truly went to sleep. Clearly, late enough for me to completely over sleep.

"Where's my phone, where's my phone, where's my phone? Fuck!" I feel around beneath my pillows. I pick up the blanket and fling it around. As the linen falls, I stare at my empty bed. Angered, I loudly groan and fall on the bed. "Alexa, call my phone." I await my reply from my device as I fall to the floor to look under my bed. It is dead empty and my patience are running thin as I come to realize Alexa has not replied. "Alexa! Alexa, call my phone!" What, was there a blackout?

My head whips around to stare back at my television stand with the hopes seeing a series of cable boxes beneath a 40" television that was hung up on the wall. A bookshelf replaces it, it is stacked from head to toe, a pretty clay vase occupies the top.

"Aw, damn! I got robbed and slept through the whole thing." I cry out as I get up to run through the house. As I go to reach in my drawer for a bra that I lack so that I can go downstairs and have a conversation with Eban, our front desk guy, I do not see my charger plugged into the wall. My main focus is still getting a bra on. I reach to do so and I come to face the giant shiny, black landline sitting on my nightstand. "Charolette, you are so extra, bitch." I say to myself as I walk to the bathroom. I turn on the water, beginning to run the water, as I wrap my hair up and my head around my situation. I look myself in the mirror. "Only you would have one of these weird ass dreams. Wake the fuck up!" Leaning forward, I splash my face with water. I bring my face up, expecting to be back in bed. The disappointment I am met with is unbelievable.

Fuck.

I look around the bathroom trying to think of a way to wake myself. I sit down on the toilet with my hand beneath the running faucet and shut my eyes. I take a moment to inhale a breath of fresh air as I feel my bladder loosen before releasing itself. Okay, this is my moment. I just peed in the bed. My eyes are going to open and I will have wash my sheets. My lungs fill themselves as I allow myself to release. My eyes open and I look around.

"I done fell asleep on the toilet," I giggle as I quickly dab and leap from the toilet. "I'm such a weirdo. We're going to clean this up, wash up, and call in sick because this is ridiculous," I lecture myself. I bend down and splash some more water on my face, my hand reaches around in search of my Clean & Clear face wash dispenser. Its absence causes for me to wonder of I replaced it with a regular bar. I bring my face up and pull the nearest towel off of the rack to clean myself up.

Flipping my hair from my face for a second time as I exit the bathroom and enter my bathroom, I begin to truly wake up and become aware of my surroundings. For the first time since awakening, I take a second to genuinely digest my surroundings with a clear mind. The lack of my belongings comes with a series of red flags. My tv, as previously said, is no where in sight. My cellphone is still lost in the world's atmosphere. I look around. Some things are still in around and in place. A painting my best friend's sister did for me in the twelfth grade still hangs above my bed. The vintage appeal that has disguised my bedroom resembles those of the photos within Aunt Charolette's photo album. I would love to say what anyone else in my place would say: These kinds of things don't exist! This is some movie shit. I would completely agree because I've seen 13 Going On 30, 17 Again, Hot Chick, Freaky Friday, all of those films. Yet, because I've seen them, I am eaten alive by a shockwave of panic.