A Normal Day in Paradise.

I wake, to the sound of a blaring alarm. Another day in paradise. Shower, clothes, eat, drive to class. It’s the same routine I’ve always done, but it feels strangely different.

In class, I feel on edge. Like a eerie pair of eyes is gazing -through- me. It’s gaze, fixated not on my physical form, but into my mind. My hairs standing as tall as towers, I anonymously peer around the lecture hall. Nothing, as suspected. I remain undetected, at least to people.

The campus feels colder than normal. The wind, more piercing. The snow, more chilling. It feels as if it’s draining me. My hot chocolate is tasteless, dry even, parching me further. This day is not right.

Finally, Calculus, somewhere I feel at home, except, I don’t today. The professors face, I can’t make it out. Where his features once were, there is only opaque skin, pulled taught over a skull, with a long, toothy grin.

His normally white chalk appears crimson on the blackboard. No, not chalk, instead of dust, there remains a viscous fluid. Looking around, all my peers have the same, long grin going ear-to-ear like a Glasgow smile.

This day keeps getting weirder.

Ignoring it, I put headphones on and blare a symphony. No, I thought I had selected Beethovens No. 8. This is quite clearly Requiem Lacrimosa. Whatever, it’s still a pretty piece.

I swear the sky was mostly clear when I got here, but now it’s a deep, smokey gray, making the entire campus dark like a fantasy graveyard. The trees seem to groan and wail around me, and I almost can make out eyes in the patterns of their bark.

Whatever, they are just trees.

Finishing up my last class I head to the parking deck, browsing Reddit. It’s entirely empty, save one dark, black stagecoach. I roll my eyes, knowing I don’t have time for this. I walk past the wagon, hearing whispers, even though my music.

Finally, reaching my car, Lacrimosa ends. Driving home, I notice that where buildings were, there are only ruins now. The sky, getting even darker now, adopting a red, hellish hue.

What time do I work again? 5pm… like always.

I get back home, my grandparents on the couch like two skeletons, no, they are just skeletons. Lucky, I think quietly to myself as I warm up old lasagna. Work is gonna suck tonight.

The drive to work feels longer than normal. I swear I see my memories flashing by as I drive there. I ignore them. They mostly suck anyways.

I tuck my shirt in and clock in. The cooks seem slower than normal. Whatever. I walk to the front, checking the specials board. Flayed skin soup and leg of man again? This place is pathetic.

The customers shamble in around 6pm like normal. God, I swear we attract the worst kind of people. I have to sweep up lost eyeballs and fallen-off fingers by the hour. I need a new job.

11pm finally. I clock out, leaving the dump. I look back to see just a pit behind me. A mass grave where my work was. Gross.

I get home, change into some pajamas, and tune into some of my favorite shows. No matter which one I pick though, they all show the same thing. That toothy grin. Fuck it, I need to get some rest anyways. I set my alarm clock and close my eyes, waiting for the same thing tommorow.