I have found a bed. This is important.
From here on, I shall be marking my sleep-cycles in the progress of this blog, so that I do not forget them. I have undergone several since I began typing, but have already lost count. Thus, I shall call this Sleep Cycle 1.
From last time, I staggered down the street; after several steps, my right leg began to give way under me. That was the side on which I hit the floor, so colour me unsurprised as to why it began to give way. In any case, I reached the end of that street, and leaned against a wall for support, breathing heavily.
I am not the apex of human fitness. After the days (?) I've been having, I think I could be forgiven for my imperfections. Just maybe.
In any case, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply; I opened them once more, and noticed that I had been fortunate enough to have leaned on a door for support. Thanking my fortune, I placed a hand on the handle, and it gave way easily. I found myself in a room much like I first found myself in, but with some key differences.
For one, a bed. This is important. Beds are important; never forget that. A human who knows where their bed is has their head together.
Secondly, there was a second doorframe in the room; I walked through the door (which gently swung shut behind me), placed the laptop onto the bed, and walked through the second doorway. I found myself in a bathroom, which had been built by someone who had no concept of what a "bath" was. There was no bathtub; there was a shower cubicle and a sink, but no taps or showerheads. And I do not mean to say that there were holes where there should have been those things, they had just been built to lack them.
There was still a mirror in there, above the sink. I do not normally indulge in the vanities of appearances (it takes a special kind of plain-ness to be as plain as I, and I have just that amount), but I did feel a need to. After my meeting with the tarmac outside, I think there's a very good chance that my nose may never fully heal. The rest of my face is grazed, also, but that will heal in time.
And now, may I sound a little mad? A little madder then normal, in any case.
As I looked in the mirror, I felt my head split in two, as if the river of my conciousness had arrived at a tributary. I still felt my life continue as part of the river, but I could also feel (and remember) the path of the memory-tributary which grew there.
In this path, I stared into the mirror; my eyes grew wide, as my vision began to become red and distorted. As if I'd remembered a downright hilarious joke, my mouth suddenly opened in a manic grin; I saw a human figure in the doorway behind me (reflected in the mirror), but I could make out no features, for I moved at that moment. I had, from somewhere, procured a gun; I held it up to the side of my head (covering the doorway), and pulled the trigger. My distorted vision continued, as my body hit the floor once more, and the familiar red of blood covered my eyes once more.
At the same time, I continued to stare at the wrecked face in the mirror, still perfectly fit and alive, and seeing in full colour.
I do not claim to understand this. What can I do but disregard it? I laid down on the bed in the other room, moving the laptop to the floor, and I slept.
I awoke for Sleep Cycle 2. My nose began bleeding while I was sleeping for some reason, and I awoke to a rather red pillow. At least it wasn't my clothes that I was sleeping on. I have not left the room since I found it; I shall try the door now, and see what else I can find in this city. I will have to find support for my leg, and pray that I do not get an infection on the facial cuts.