waking up

It felt almost like he was drowning, the whole world muddled and faded, so far away from the stark contrasts that it usually relied on.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were closed. His legs weren’t supporting him, he could tell that he was leaning on another person, but had no memory of getting there. He could hear her asking him something, and he tried to respond. He couldn’t remember what she said, but they began to walk out of the room. It was only then that he realized again where he was. The room hadn’t changed, the bright lights, scattered desks, controlled mayhem of people attempting to be careful as they quickly finish precise work before going to an activity they much prefer. The same room he had been in before, and he remembered seconds ago being one of the bustling masses. But now he was leaning on his teacher, and she was helping him out of the room. This isn’t real, he realized, and so he leaned in, and allowed the teacher to take most of his weight as they stumbled out of the room.

Around a quarter of an hour later, he would realize what had happened, that it really had happened, but that reality had seemed like a dream. He will wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t been in class when he suddenly found his inhibitions lowered so much that he could go against his own self-sufficient nature, with the justification of a dream.

Maybe this is why people drink, he would think. Maybe this is why people are afraid to drink.

But for now, he’s in the hallway outside of the room. Time has passed again in a flash, and he finds himself wondering again, how did I get here? He vaguely recalls a dream, someone catching him and helping support him out of the room, the reassurance of unreality allowing him to not force his legs to hold him upright. Slowly, he makes himself wake up again, although at the time he couldn’t remember why he should bother.

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