Under the rug

exploring

The bedroom consisted of a container of metal springs with layered wrapping and a pillow; four walls with indentations: literature shelving and a lamp on a table. Walter was not too interesting.  By day his room emitted warmth courtesy of the southwestern color palette.  He slept, worked, slept, worked, and not unlike others lacked lucid dreams. When these dreams did occur, however, Walter differed. 
"Walter?" 
"No." 
"Suffice me." 
"Out"
"I hunger."
Frantically shoving off the blanket, Walter motioned towards the bathroom. Flip the seat and fill it up. The toilet hungers as well. A few retches more and less than empty Walter sulked himself up to the sink. Grasping the knob with force rivaling endangered hang gliders, veins bulging, sweat flooding, pupils maximizing, but the anxiety outweighs his effort: a tributary instead of the Mississippi. First the shampoo and then the conditioner, and grabbing the razor he threads the water through the blades removing hair for hair removal and age modification. Now a commonality with the balding, and Walter presents the negative Mohawk: hair inversion. Cleansing finished, he allocates the chair to the ceiling and returns to bed. Two weeks passed and it happened again. 
"Walter?" escaped from a bump in the carpet.
"No," with distaste reminiscent of Greek food afterwards
"Forever is a long time."
"I tire" as he ripped the chair from the ceiling, bashing the bump in with the force of officers during a riot.
Walter awoke to the peaceable assembly of his alarm clock.

Author's Note

long walks