Crown of Thorns: Chapter 1 (Intro)

Chapter 1

His heart raced as Henry jolted upright in his bed, a sheen of cold sweat covered his shivering back. Normally tamed hair was distraught and tangled as sticky strands clung to his forehead. Reaching up with trembling hands to his temples, Henry rubbed them in circles as the pulsating throb could be felt under his fingertips. Henry hoped to ease the pressure he was experiencing if even by a little. The lingering remnants of the dream quivered on the edge of his consciousness. Disjointed images and swirling emotions tugged at Henry's thoughts leaving only disorientation and had left a deeply unsettling sensation from within himself he couldn't shake.

Something was off and it wasn't going to go away by ignoring it alone. He fumbled for his rectangular glasses on the night stand in the dimly lit room and put them on, squinting slightly as if it would help narrow the darkness that encroached. Nothing obvious stood out as his eyes darted nervously, determined to find something amiss. With a shake of Henry's head and a sigh of disdain, there was now no point in returning to bed at this point. The red glow of the alarm clock situated on the study desk glared back the time, showing 6:03am. It did create a eerie shadow as it casted its light across the small room.

With a annoyed exhale, Henry shifted himself to the edge of the bed side and turned his attention to the nearby window. Faint streaks of pale morning light crept across the horizon, though mostly obscured by other similar looking nondescript suburban houses. Pushing himself off with an audible groan escaping him, Henry got to his feet and felt the familiar plush carpet that was warm and yet unremarkable as ever. Then with a soft plod across the room, Henry moved onto the bathroom, were the instant change to starkly cold tile was rather unpleasant. Although it did bring him a reminder of what was going on around him.

The faucet turned on with a loud metallic squeak, which was all too common that Henry ignored as if on instinct. He turned it to a decent temperature and began to splash water on his face, the distinct smell of city piping filled his nostrils. Then he went about combing the bedhead that had become common place as his dreams were always on the verge of being sensible. They typically left Henry baffled by their intensity upon waking. He went about smoothing it down, his reflection stared back with bleary eyes.

Nothing stood out about Henry's face in the least. A blemish here and there that marred his typical teenage skin, it was the kind of face you'd look past uninterestedly. You'd probably even thought it was someone who you remembered wrong, or that one guy everyone forgot about during a important situation. Despite that, Henry's dishwater brown eyes peered through the veil of long messy bangs that casted a shadow over his gaze. At first glance they appeared just as another boring aspect of himself. Yet there was a glint of depth deep within them. Something that had a most profound hold upon anyone who took a moment to lock with Henry's gaze. Henry had a vigilant perception of all things around him. Observation was his way to understand and see others emotions for what they wanted to desperately hide.

Creases at the corner of his thin lips formed a faint frown. He proceeded to then turn away and attempted to empty his usually turbulent mind. It was indeed a familiar dance of ups and downs, one Henry would preform countless times throughout a day. It wasn't odd he had to corral thoughts into some kind of semblance of order. Upon that conclusion of being too self absorbed, he quickly left the bathroom, changed clothes and headed downstairs. The house wasn't very old yet not very new. It was a mixture of both and it really showed in some ways, like his father's obsession with making the attic into a workspace. He'd often contemplate, who does that? Though he was quick to push the thought away, not wanting to have to deal with feelings of such magnitude so early in the morning.