Misfortune

A troubled man fears his dreams may bring about death.

  MISFORTUNE

 Greg Klepper

 

Hypnotically staring at the blank TV screen from his black leather armchair, Jimmy Pruitt strained to stay awake. High above him on the bleached white wall, the black clock screamed 12:01 AM in blinding red numbers. Eyes bloodshot with dark circles, each time he forced his upper lids open, his forehead wrinkled.

Jimmy was a chronic insomniac resistant to treatment.  His shrink Dr. Tepper saw him once a week to no avail. She prescribed him Ambien for sleeping which he refused to take. Weekly, she recommended hospitalization in a psychiatric unit.

Whenever Jimmy fell asleep, he was confronted with nightmares portraying his own demise. Playing witness to an assortment of graphic deaths, he was terrorized nightly. Believing death in a dream could mean death in reality, for the last 4 months, he’d fought to stay awake.

Erratic and superstitious, Jimmy made his own life a living hell. As Dr. Tepper frequently told him, he suffered from paranoid delusions, and though he refused to heed her advice, he always arrived on time for their weekly appointments. Adamant that a thirty-four-year-old man could make his own decisions, Jimmy decided to forego sleep, because deep within his inaccessible mind, he held onto a gut feeling.  A feeling that he would soon be dreaming himself into an early grave.

As Jimmy yielded to the comfort of his recliner, his eyes closed.  His living room was now a dark rooftop. Freezing cold in the damp air, despite the silence, he felt he was not alone. Suddenly, from behind, he heard a muffled shout. Whirling round, he saw no one. As he sighed with relief, his breath cast a white shadow.

Jimmy shoved his hands inside the pockets of his shabby black leather jacket and shuddered. Was something out there? As he leaned over the ledge to see the ground, strong arms thrust him forward from behind. Consumed by terror, he fell towards the wet asphalt many stories below.

Back in his living room, the first image of reality was the red glare of the clock, reading “12:59 AM.” In a damp sweat, heaving with panic, he took long slow breaths to calm himself.  Despite the slew of morbid dreams, the clock was the real mystery.

Every night  as he awoke, his bleary eyes saw the same time on the clock" not a minute earlier or later"always, “12:59 AM.” Night after night, those same red numbers gleamed at him monotonously. When he was not drooling from sleep deprivation, he mulled over the coincidence. Tonight was no exception.

 

Believing he would be the victim of another violent death if he slept again, Jimmy rushed to the kitchen. Maniacally, he drank iced black coffee from a big glass pitcher till morning.

Knowing the TV would put him to sleep, for hours, Jimmy fidgeted in his recliner. Around 2:00 PM, someone knocked on his door"again and again. Prying himself up from the chair took all his strength, but he needed to stop the knocking.

When Jimmy opened the door, his best friend Charlie greeted him. Charlie stared in confusion and concern at Jimmy’s disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes with circles so dark they came off as profound.

“Wow. You look like s**t!” Appalled by his friend’s condition, Charlie demanded, “What the hell’s going on?”

Jimmy took a few moments to decipher the words escaping from his visitor’s mouth. Rubbing his irritated eyes, he said “Oh. I haven’t slept much lately.”

  “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Overwhelmed by exhaustion, Jimmy replied in a monotone, “I’ve been having a rough time lately. So what’s going on?”

“Not much. I was just gonna see if you wanted to go over to Joe’s with me to watch the game.” Charlie’s eyes stayed glued on his friend.

Jimmy hesitated a moment, then decided anywhere was better than home. After cleaning himself up a bit, he followed Charlie to the car.

While driving, they listened to the radio in comfortable silence. Streetlights, stoplights and neon signs burned Jimmy’s retinas, but he forced his eyes to remain open. After about five minutes, Charlie pulled up beside a convenience store.

“What’re we doing?” Jimmy asked groggily.

“I just gotta run in here real quick,” Charlie responded. “You comin’?”

Without answering, Jimmy sluggishly made his way out of the car and followed his friend into the store. Charlie walked straight to the counter, bought a pack of cigarettes, and then proceeded to fill out a card for the lottery.

“Why are you bothering with that?” asked Jimmy. “You’re never gonna win.”

“Hey, somebody’s gotta win. Why shouldn’t it be me?” said Charlie, choosing numbers at random. “Grab yourself a Pick 4, my treat.”

Jimmy declined the offer, but Charlie insisted.  Before he knew it, Jimmy was struggling to read the small print on the lottery ticket with his aching eyes. His mind cloudy, he couldn’t decide for the life of him which numbers to choose. Instantaneously,  the four numbers that had been plaguing him for the past few months surfaced among the exhasustion.   Now fresh in his mind, they seemed to jump right off the card.

Jimmy took the plastic pen and blackened the 1, the 2, the 5, and the 9; then handed the card to the cashier to process. As they exited the store, Charlie surveyed his tickets one by one. Driving off to meet friends, the two talked about old times.

Jimmy got home a little past 11. More alert than earlier, he feared the four beers he’d consumed would make it easier to succumb to the lure of sleep. Turning on the TV, he changed channels from his comfortable black armchair. After watching a few minutes of commentary on the football game, he flipped to the news.

Medics wheeled off bodies from a tall building, with areas cordoned off by yellow police tape. Headlines changed from a local rapist, to school board cuts, and finally, lottery results. Having almost forgotten the ticket crumpled in his pocket, Jimmy felt pleased by the announcement. Digging it out, he focused on the four numbers.

A pretty blonde in a tight red dress read the numbers off of ping-pong balls as they popped up. After several other drawings, it was time for the Pick 4 results. With a fake grin, her bleached white teeth gleaming, the blonde reported: “The first number tonight is…1, and the next is…2, and the next is…5, and the last is…9, making tonight’s Pick 4 winning numbers: 1,2,5,9. Tune in nightly for lottery results here on channel 8.”

Wow, Jimmy thought, staring blankly at his ticket, I won.

“I won the lottery,” he droned aloud, over and over, till he knew the words were true. His whole body aching, the closest he came to a smile was a triumphant smirk. 

. All his life, Jimmy had struggled with money. He did not own a car and his rent was always overdue.  Idly, he wondered, where’s the catch?

Too enthused to recall the fearful rivalry he’d forged with sleep, that night he stayed awake with ease. Contemplating how life would change now that he was a winner, Jimmy whiled away the hours going back and forth from his living room to his bathroom trying out smiles in front of the medicine cabinet mirror.

By morning, Jimmy was ecstatic. Later in the day, after a call to Charlie to share the wonderful news, he set out with bloodshot eyes to claim his winnings.

An icy wind blew as he waited for the bus, and he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket.  First he would take the bus to the train, and then the train to collect his money. After a ten-minute-wait, the bus came. Boarding, he took a seat in the back.  During the short ride, he sat in silence mulling over new possibilities.

On the train, lost in thought, Jimmy nearly missed his stop. Quickly, he exited, ticket in hand.       After walking in one direction, he paused, read the address from the ticket, turned round and walked back in the other direction"this time the right way.

After seven or eight blocks, he came to a tall glass building that towered over the street and cast a dark shadow.   Entering with a smile, he asked the receptionist for directions. She pointed to the elevator, and told him to take it to the 12th floor.

 Once there, he spoke to the man in charge of prizes. After a grueling process to legitimize his win, he walked out smiling. Surprisingly alert, he held the first check of many to come. By the time he exited the tall building, the sky had darkened and the streets were almost empty

Eyes peeled for a place to cash it, he walked on with one hand clenching onto the check for $5000.  Jimmy glanced at his watch, then at the train station across the street. . After a momentary stop, excitement propelled his legs onward.

Once his check was cashed, he’d be rich.  Once his check was cashed, he imagined his problems would dissipate. Traveling miles out of his way by train, he found the streets desolate when he exited the station"his only company, garbage floating in the wind.

After several blocks, he saw a big yellow awning with the words “24 Hour Check Cashing” in bold red letters. Light shone from inside the building, and people waited on line. Jimmy bolted across the street, and entered with a smile. He waited on line behind a short woman, until it was his turn.

When he handed the cashier the check, she said, “Now aren’t you a lucky guy?” Within moments, she slid a large stack of bills under the glass window. Smiling, he thanked her. As he turned away, he saw he was the last customer left inside.

Counting the money by the door, suddenly, Jimmy felt goose bumps rise on his skin. Was someone watching? Moving over to the window, he peered with squinted eyes out into the night. After a look, he sighed and dismissed the paranoia. Then he split the money into two piles.  Putting one in each of his two front pockets, he exited out the glass doors.     

As the night turned colder and windier, Jimmy walked back toward the train station. With each step, the feeling in his stomach grew stronger. He felt as if he was not alone, almost as if he was being tailed from behind. 

Jimmy stopped short, looking over his shoulder. Nobody was there. It wasn't until he began to walk again that  he heard footsteps faintly behind him.  Stopping short, he whirled around. Nobody was there. The streets were as empty as they had been all night.  It wasn't until the third time he heard them that he knew it couldn’t of been his imagination.  As Paranoia began to consume him, Jimmy's heart began to race. He began walking faster.  Footsteps sounded again from behind. This time faster and clearer than before.

Consumed by fear, Jimmy was now running at full speed. When he turned right a block later, he stopped short. He was now in an alley.  He had been here before.

The place gave him a feeling of dread, almost as if it was torn out of his nightmares. The adjacent street was fenced off due to a construction project. With nowhere else to go but forward or back,  Jimmy stopped short, shaking uncontrollably as he glanced around. Silence. He saw no one. Looking straight ahead, he began to walk on  through the narrow way . Digging his freezing hands deep within his pockets, Jimmy gripped tightly onto the money inside and walked faster with each step.

When he heard the muffled shout from behind"he stopped dead in his tracks. This time, he didn't look back.  He held his head high and continued to run. An ear-piercing bang erupted from behind him. Jimmy was flung forward onto his stomach.  Howling out in pain, he clutched his back. 

Blood oozed out from under him, collecting in a dark puddle. He cried out hysterically,  as slow footsteps traveled the short distance between the two men. Jimmy stared at the pair of dirty black boots now in front of him. His eyes traveled upward to reveal a fading face.

A man in grimy jeans peered down at him with a cold stare. Gun in hand, he began to speak.

“Empty your pockets.”

Jimmy clutched his bleeding back. Tears poured from his bloodshot eyes.

“I said empty your pockets or I‘ll shoot you in the f*****g skull!” the man barked at Jimmy with fury. “Now!”

Convulsed with fear, Jimmy moved his fallen arms toward his bloodstained coat. As quick as his injury would allow, he reached his left hand into his left pocket and flung a large wad of bills at the dusty black boots.

A hand sheathed in a black glove picked up the pile. “Empty your other pocket” ordered the man who now spoke lightly. “Now.”

 As his hopes drained along with his blood, Jimmy struggled to comply. Finally, he pulled out his right hand and flung the second pile at the man. These bills had been stained. The man picked them up in fury before slamming his steel toe boot into Jimmy's face.  Jimmy cried out in agony, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

 Pointing the gun at Jimmy’s shivering head, the tall man touched his finger to the trigger.

Mustering all of his strength, Jimmy was unable to speak a word.

When the second loud bang ensued, Jimmy’s shivering came to a halt. The man disappeared down the far end of the alley and everything was silent again.  Jimmy lay motionless in a pool of blood. His eyes shut tight, what remained of Jimmy‘s face looked completely serene.  Dead in the freezing cold, he was finally set to rest. The clock tower high above him read 12:59.

Reviews

[Elemenopy]

Not a bad story. You started it well, gave enough to keep me interested, and ended it with a bang. The description was done very well. I felt the pain of the main character due to the inability to sleep throughout the entire piece. I was almost positive that you were going to end it, "and then he woke up and stared at the clock again," but I was pleasantly surprised at the way you did end it. I honestly have no suggestions other than to say good story and keep writing.

[kelly ann]

my first reaction is just that the story's really depressing. my favorite part of the story is in the very beginning where jimmy's dream is blended together with reality. very jorge luis borges-y. i loved that style and it fit so well in this context. i think it might be cool to see more of that throughout the story and maybe end it ambiguously as magical realist writers often do. i think this story has the potential to go somewhere cool if it could transcend the fact that the purpose of this story is lost in its own darkness. if that makes sense. but very cool story, and great start!

[ur_ginger_girl]

great ending. awsome story :)

[Sarah Hawkinson]

Great ending! Loved it all actually. You're really good at describing things. the first paragraph and the end are my favorite parts. "fearing his dreams would land him in an early grave" great quote!

[Anna Hopkins]

That was intense. I loved it. I found myself holding my breath near the end.