Rain began to cascade down the windows, its depth and translucent nature shimmering brightly against the penetrative radiance of the street lamp, its fluidity so aggressively hypnotic that its transparency almost began mesmerizing you back in to lulled unconsciousness, with sleeps firm expectancy merely a formality as you blink with increasing resilience to its radiating viscosity. But your mind fails to capitulate, as your neurons continue stretching the elasticity of your fragmented physicality. It’s 2:09, the rains glistening beauty is replaced by perennial rasping on your window, tapping vindictively at your emancipating rejuvenation. The clock is ticking idly with every progressive movement more acoustically punctual than the last, almost incredulous to your chronic, neurological decline. Your continued restive postures inadvertently attracts the attention of your spouse as she/he leans over with endearing concern, cordially inquiring into your distressed visage. “I’m fine” you reply expectantly “just having trouble sleeping. I’ll be back in a minute”. Your extremities–numb from the restless posturing its endured, moans in contingent irritability at your forced reprisal to stretch with mobilised retraction from the bed sheets as you begin the arduous descent to the kitchen, seeking some non-existent elixir to ease your neurological impediment. You arch your back to shake the rigidity of your posture, expanding the sinews of your spine to accommodate your diminished frame, compelling your appendages out of entropy while avoiding the creaking floor boards with measured, tentative steps like Indiana Jones through a perilous tomb.
You reach the kitchen seeking liquefied nourishment to appease your unstable, sluggish mannerisms, apathetic to the worlds seemingly unconscious contentment and apprise the fidelity of the current predicament. You observe the rain still persistent in its mandate, subtly manipulating the fragility of the docile stature of trees you enter the darkened cavity that in light represents your living room, prepared to ascend the darkened stairs glistening with interspersed radiance of external, automated light. Your mind–in its hallucinogenic state–presents one composed alternative, an early morning salutation with your PS3 (other, less desirable consoles are available) and semblance of a gaming faculty on-line. Precautionary measures were of course taken to prevent any unnecessary disturbances or inquisitive individuals from sullying this spontaneous excursion; decreasing the volume of exterior noise by replacing loud profanities with vigorous gestures, exerting muted response to any advantageous position and generally abstaining from any vocally derivative exclamations, to less than desirable aggressors. Between elongated yawns and the infiltrating natural light that flourished externally, it soon becomes obvious that time has exponentially progressed, and that your omitted presence from the bedroom would soon become apparent.
Blinking listlessly at the allotted time, releasing satisfied exhaling of carbon dioxide from your lungs at the sobriety of the secluded darkness, comforted by the enveloping ambiance that has gently massaged your subverted neurosis. You feel the sovereignty of sanity has returned, deferred from such a simple technological reprisal. Every nerve begins to capitulate to the enormity of the hour primed to accommodate your ascension back to sustaining dormancy. You begin to channel the clandestine actions adopted by Solid Snake from Metal Gear Solid and search pensively for a cardboard box that suitably conceals your identity, cautiously mindful of any exclamation marks. But despite your methodical navigation, delicate movements and lack of access to rectangular receptacle, every step appears impervious to your necessary anonymity with the sullen blackness mocking the enormity of every tentative step, which seem greatly accentuated by the audible vulgarity of some distant, automotive transport. But with measured synchronicity you begin to harness the latent anonymity of the obtrusive vehicular activity, and tepidly negotiate your way back under the comforting embrace of the covers, with your respective partners ability to perceive your stunted arrival left reasonably unmolested. Until an unexpected inquiry is made into your nocturnal activities and your adjourned availability. Of course, the only retort your capable of giving at that moment is one of muted complacency, a relaxed posture devoid of conscious activity and passive, melodic breathing. It appears that violence does have some medicinal benefits after all.
Have you ever woken early to indulge your gaming needs? Let me know your experiences. Cheers.