The Awakening

The Awakening

Brian stepped in from the cold night air, steam still billowing from his mouth.  He rubbed his numb hands together, trying to regain some semblance of feeling or controllable motion.  He inhaled, and was instantly greeted by the smell of freshly baked apple pie floating up the stairs.  A slightly more exuberant greeting followed just behind, this time in the form of the family dog, Jasper.  He pushed the leaping, slobbering ball of fur aside, and made his way down to the kitchen.

"Hello dear." Ruby's voice wafted through from the kitchen with the same enticing sweetness as the apple pie. "Those slave drivers at your work surely wouldn't be so cruel as to keep you from your family tonight, would they?"

"I'm sorry, but you know I can't fall behind.  There are a thousand other younger, faster and fitter guys out there who would have my job in a minute."  Brian slumped into the chair at the head of the table and rested his head on his hands.

"You know you're good at your job Brian.  How many of those other people you mention would put in half the work you do?"  Ruby smiled at her husband reassuringly.

"Step into the real world, love," Brian sighed, "for my bosses, the grass is always greener on the other side.  Unless you keep cutting your lawn every day."

Ruby looked sadly at the top of her husband's head for a moment.  His eyes remained firmly fixed on the table.  She resigned herself to her own work, and turned back to the stove.

"How are the kids?" Brian asked, his eye's ungluing themselves from the knotted wood and shifting to his wife's back.

“Oh you know that pair.  Never happier than when they’re causing mischief.”  Ruby didn’t turn around, but Brian could hear the wry smile in her voice. “It’s all I can do to keep them bouncing off the walls.  Especially tonight.  They’ve wound themselves up so much it’ll be a wonder if they sleep at all.”

“Well, they’d better do.  And sleep late too.  I'm stuffed if I’m dragging myself out of bed at the crack of dawn to watch those little sods indulge their budding consumerist tendencies.”  Brian massaged his temples.

“Brian, don’t be such a spoilsport.  Let them have their fun.  You could try having a heart for a change.”  A mild irritation had spread into Ruby’s usually warm tone.

Brian’s blood rose for a moment, before being forced back down by good sense, “Yeah, you’re right.  I’m just tired, you know?”

Ruby turned away from the bubbling pans to face her husband.  “Well, take a deep breath then.  Relax.  You’ve got time off, put your feet up and have a beer.”  Her arms folded determinedly.

“You, my dear, are a genius,” Brian grinned. He pulled himself out of his chair, pecked her gently on the cheek, and made for the fridge.

Having collected a perspiring bottle of imported lager, Brian wandered through to the living room.  The air was alive with the sound of the kid’s laughter, prompted by the Hollywood horrorshow flickering on the TV.

“Hi Dad!” the two brunette figures hunched within licking distance of the TV chimed in unison.

"Hi Aaron, hi Helen." Brian crashed to the sofa while cracking the top from his beer in one smooth motion; "you're not watching this pile of tosh again, are you?"

The children's eyes remained firmly fixed on the TV.

"We like it, Dad.  It's funny," Aaron intoned monotonously, "you say that every time we watch it.  Besides, it's on regular TV tonight."

"God help us all," Brian replied, mentally probing the days of repetitive tripe ahead.

"I like all the booby traps," Helen blurted, intent on contributing to the debate.

"I noticed.  You watch this at least once a week."  Brian sunk further into the chair, oozing boredom. "You really shouldn't sit that close.  When you grow up you'll need glasses."

"Dad, shhhh!" Helen detached from her fixation for a moment to shoot her father a stern look.

On screen, the exuberant diminutive blonde kid slapped his hands to his face and screamed.  Inside, Brian joined him.

“I can actually feel this film stripping away IQ points.  You pair will end up slopping out Burger King if this is all you feed your minds with.”  Brian grimaced at the thought of a generation raised on trash TV and fast food.

“Brian give it a rest!  You don't hear us moaning when you stick on your James Bond collection for the umpteenth time,” Ruby’s voice burst through from the other room, bristling with aggravation.

“Well, actually, I do.  And that's totally different anyway.  Bond is classic British cinema.  This is mindless Hollywood rubbish,” Brian sneered.

“Perhaps, but it's also fun.  You do remember that Brian, don't you?  Fun?”

“There does seem to be some vague recollection floating about in there.  Seems to come from before I got married.”  That comment ended the game of emotional ping-pong.  Ruby rested in silent disappointment, and Brian basked in quiet depression.  The children were still blissfully absorbed by the liquid crystal black hole in the corner. 
 
The mayhem painted by the glowing rectangle contrasted sharply with the subtle, simmering tension in the room.  Reality began to scratch, then scrape, and then finally grate on Brian’s mind. 

A spiralling thought circled his conscious.

You’re trapped, he told himself, trapped in this place, trapped with these people.  Trapped in that hideous job.  Trapped into a life you don’t enjoy by commitments you never asked for.  You’re stuck, you’re stuffed.  And to top it off, this is as good as it gets.  You peaked a long time ago, and now it’s all downhill.  You’re an idiot, Brian, you could have been so much more.

This pattern of thinking clashed around his head for the remainder of the night.  Hours went by and Brian still couldn’t see a way around the niggling doubt, couldn’t move past the resentment.  This was not the first time he had experienced this particular mental loop, but usually he could push it aside after a while.  This time, it wouldn’t leave him alone.  The more he pushed it, the faster it rotated and the louder it shouted.  Eventually, Brian couldn’t take any more.

“Right, I can’t handle this terrible excuse for entertainment any more.  I’m off to bed.”  Brian hauled his weary frame up from the sofa and made for the door.

“Awww, Dad, I wanted a bedtime story,” Helen wailed, pleading to his better nature.

“Not tonight love, Daddy’s too tired.  Your mother, I’m sure, will be happy to oblige,” he replied, looking hopefully down at his wife.

Ruby remained motionless, not making even the slightest attempt at engagement.

“Right, well, goodnight anyway,” Brian sighed.  He turned away from his family and made his way up the stairs.

Professional guilt-tripper, that woman, he thought to himself, bitterness enveloping his soul.

He followed his usual routine of brushing, flossing, and washing without any enthusiasm.  He stumbled through to the bedroom, fell onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow in a vain attempt to muffle the repetitive negative thoughts enough for him to drift off.  He heard Ruby in the next room telling the children a bedtime story. He picked up faint snippets; a lady spinning gold, a bargain involving a child.  As his wife’s playful tone described a little ogre of a man disappearing into the floor, he fell asleep.

The dream came upon him instantly.  He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there.  It was Ruby, screaming at him, telling him all the horrible thoughts he locked up in his subconscious.  Reminding him of the pain he inflicted on those around him through his own intransient indifference to their thoughts and feelings.  He sensed the presence of two smaller figures nearby.  They cried with an ear-splitting ferocity, attempting to drown out the hatred that flowed between their parents. 

For an instant, pangs of guilt racked Brian’s soul.  He wanted to apologise, to right all the wrongs he had committed through the course of his negligent life.  As quickly as it had arrived, this feeling was replaced by an equally intense sense of self-righteousness, a feeling that however he had behaved it had not been through his own decisions, but rather forced upon him by factors beyond his control.  This frustrated anger boiled up, burning his throat, before erupting into the bizarre caricature of reality his mind had created. 

He screamed back, rebounding the furious words of his family back at them.  The apparitions responded in kind.  Ruby screamed louder, the words blurring into a cacophony of disappointment.  The children worked themselves into a fit of rage, thrashing wildly around the room, ripping and tearing at the fabric of their lives.  Brian’s head swam, his consciousness running in circles.  He covered his ears, fearful of the horror that his life had become.  But the gesture was futile, and still the agonising, accusing screams tore through his thoughts. 

Only one option remained, prodding forcefully into Brain’s head, stirring him out of his hunched posture.

RUN

He removed his hands from his ears and turned away from the three wailing banshees, sprinting for the door.  He leapt down the flight of steps and crashed into the plate glass door that guarded his only escape route.  Daggers of razor-sharp reflective light tumbled around him, bouncing off his face and body.  He sat dazed on the floor, but the unseen wailing from the top of the stairs grew louder and once again the fear pushed him forwards.  He forced himself to his feet, glass crunching between his body and the soft carpet.  He found the door handle and wrenched the door open, slamming his hand between the wall and the cold metal, driving the shards of glass deeper still.  He stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind him.  Finally the screaming had stopped.  He felt a brief instant of blissful relief, freed from the torment he had been subjected to by the figures inside.  The bitter cold took soon hold of him and he began to shiver violently.  Looking down, he realised he was still wearing only his boxer shorts.  The red hearts that covered the flimsy fabric flapped in the breeze, mocking his foolishness.  He looked around the square of lock-block paving that marked the end of his quiet cul-de-sac.  The whole world held an unnatural feeling of emptiness, a brooding silence filled with nothing but his own terrible thoughts.  He was alone.  The fear engulfed him, the terror was all-encompassing.  His mind rotated in loops, hating itself continually until eventually he couldn't take it any more.  The only chance was to go back inside.  He rattled the handle desperately, but the door had locked itself.  He slammed his shoulder violently into the wood, rushes of pain shooting throughout his body.  There was no give.  There was no escape.

He dropped to his knees and cried, the horror of the life he had created for himself smashing his soul to oblivion.

When Brian awoke, a strange feeling of apprehension was slowly fading from his body. He looked around the room and breathed a sigh of relief as he realised where the feeling had come from.

That god-awful dream.

He glanced over to his left, and Ruby lay there sleeping peacefully.  The soft rhythm of her breath soothed away the last touches of terror that still clang to him.  His gaze shifted to the alarm clock.

11AM on Christmas morning and still the kids haven't woken up.  Wonders will never cease, he thought, smiling. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and his feet connected effortlessly with his well-worn slippers.  He stood, stretched and glanced out the window.  A thick layer of snow had fallen, carpeting the world in a fluffy layer of cool serenity.

Well, better get the Santa Suit out.  For the first time in his life, the thought of that itchy beard and over-sized gut made him feel comfortable.