I, (22M), am usually a severe insomniac. Going days, weeks without the 8 hours of sleep your parents always tell you about. I’m on meds for it, but they just don’t seem to work. My dosage was increased last month. I’ve seen some improvement not much. I also live on my own in a small NY one room apartment. The rent is affordable so it works.
Last night was strange though. I’d been sick all day yesterday, you know, the usual fever, throwing up and stuff. Nothing too out of the norm. I’d gotten back from my shift at the local grocery store and got home at roughly 9:36 PM (I work overtime). I was tired so skipped dinner and got changed, washed uo etc. It was when I was getting into bed that I notices there was a glove on the chair in the crner of my room. Wasn’t mine, but I didn’t think anything of it and closed my eyes.
I started drifting off, and eventually fell asleep. This is where I was like “Ok, this is odd.” I was dreaming. First time in years. It felt great. I did the usual dream stuff, flying and all that. However I came upon the road my apartment block was on. All the windows of the buildings were boarded up. Except for one. It was my room. I though nothing of it until I noticed movement in there. I went up to explore and investigate.
The walls and floors were charred black. I made it to my room. Room 665. The 5 was taken off though, as if someone pryed it off with a crowbar. Odd. I went in and my room was as it was when I fell asleep. I saw myself sleeping. God I’m a loud snorer. Besides the point. I go to look outside, and instead of roads, it was just…trees? Infront of each of the trees though were what looked to be headstones. I noticed “665 tomorrow” etched on the walls of one of the buildings. The boards all fell, windows gone. Then hundreds of figures began stepping out of the windows onto the floor below.
I turned around and woke up. I was…in the hospital? I had no idea how I got there, but my mom was besides my bed.”Honey, you’re awake! Oh my baby are you ok?!” I looked around, obviously very confused as to why I was in the hospital. “Why am I here?” I said, stumbling my words. Then something fell from my head. It was a piece of what I think was stone? It looked polished, but I couldn’t fully tell because of the blood.
“There was a fire at your apartment block, Mr. Crenwell.” A fire? I didn’t realise it immediately, but then it hit me like a thousand pound frieghter. “Put the news on. Now!” I shouted. They obliged, and switched on the TV.
CNN. The reporter was wearing black. “Today, an apartment block on the corner of Ember St. has mysteriously caught ablaze. The fire began at roughly 6:56 this morning, and authorities are coming close to determining the final death toll.”
“What time is it?” I glanced to the clock. 9:33 AM. I was dazed, but i began to feel a sort ig sting on my arm. Before I could look, the death toll was announced. 664 dead. I got the chance to look down. Carved into my arm were the words “There were supposed to be 665.” I was horrified.
It’s the next day and I’m staying with my Mom. I’m terrified. Does anyone have any advice on what to do?