IT’S A SURPRISINGLY WONDERFUL LIFE
Susan woke when she felt a jab of pain in her head. Her frontal lobe pulsated and cold droplets of sweat formed on her furrowed brow. The pain subsided a second later – it wasn’t the stroke she’d presumed. What lingered was a feeling of dread. Susan was generally pretty pessimistic, but this was something else, something seasonal.
She tried to push the dread to the back of her mind, to the point where she’d be able to have stressful nightmares, rather than face her stressful reality. ‘What the hell?’ she hissed at her sheets, which bunched and tangled around her hot legs. She was caught in that weird purgatory between awake and asleep. How many other people are just lying awake in their dark rooms? She thought, slightly amused by the prospect of a whole neighbourhood pretending to be asleep.
Susan lay there hopelessly caught for a moment, staring into darkness from her linen entanglement. I am never going to sleep again.She winced, and turned from her back to her side. Through the crack of her bedroom door, Susan noticed a flicker of stark, orange light. The glow was unfamiliar; therefore, it worried her. She knew it had to be something bad. Did I leave the iron on? Did I leave the freezer open? Her imagination swelled with vivid images of disaster – the house was burning down and she hadn’t realised; the kitchen was now a frostbitten wasteland.
Like a mummy coming back to life, Susan unraveled her tired body from the clingy sheets. She sat up and slid her toes along the floor beside her bed to find well-worn slippers. Over her loose t-shirt and ancient track pants she threw a dressing-gown and tightened the rope around her waist. She grabbed her hard-cover Patricia Cornwell novel to use as a weapon if necessary. Whatever was lurking/malfunctioning in the house, she was prepared for it.
Susan detested creeping and sneaking (to her, it was a waste of valuable time), so she strode down the hallway to the cavernous lounge and kitchen with the same pace of her day-time walking. She wasn’t going to let any blinking light make her cower. But what if the car has been broken in to? I could get mugged… or even murdered! Her steps were quick, but clumsy and somehow cautious – like a drunk kitten. Everyone’s away this weekend. Nobody will find my corpse until Monday night! She made it to the kitchen to find iceless walls and benches. She darted around a corner and down a step to the laundry, and the iron was off, sleeping, like she should have been.
The pulsating light became more intense as she shuffled between the laundry and office, then breakfast nook and library, though the direction from which it was coming was still uncertain. The curtains in every room apart from her bedroom were open, and the reflection of the light on hanging photos and mirrors disoriented her to the point where she wondered whether she did in-fact have a stroke. After quickly raising both arms above her head and testing her ability to speak (‘Hello, Susan? Oh thank goodness.’) she continued a panicked train of thought. Maybe it is coming from outside after all! Shit. Did I leave the keys in the car?
Butterflies fluttered in Susan’s stomach as she opened the door to the path which led to the driveway. The light was definitely coming from outside. It was even brighter now. It was alternating between yellow and red, a colour of sirens, of danger. How am I going to get to work if my car’s gone? What if I need to pick someone up from the train station? HOW AM I GOING TO WALK HOME WITH GROCERIES? She walked up the bending path, each step becoming slightly shorter along with her shallow, sickly breaths. The top of the driveway was then in view. She couldn’t believe it. The car was sitting there, not emitting the slightest glow. It hadn’t been stolen or broken and hadn’t exploded. Susan was oddly disappointed that this hadn’t taken a turn for the worst… yet.
The light reflected off the polished bonnet of Susan’s sedan. She tilted her head, and faced the neighbour’s lounge room window, which sat slightly above their joint fence. And there, framed by a border of reindeer stickers and faux snow, stood a limp pine tree, decorated with rows of blinking red and yellow lights. Her grimace morphed into an embarrassed smile and she sat on the car’s bonnet, letting the corniness of her realisation calm her. For a moment her dread washed away and she fell into a deep sleep, albeit one with nightmares about whether she’d locked the door behind her…
