The inviting warmth came from his own body, his body had answered back with damp sweat, all night long. His heart ticked faster than the old-fashioned clock sitting on his nightstand. The door remained closed, as he left it the night before. Everything else seemed to be in place. He felt weak and heavy, like he had been thrown into a fire pit and then smashed numb with a hammer. Although the ceiling fan rotated at a moderate speed, Lawrence barely could feel the air pushing against his forehead and body. A strange scent still lingered among his sheets. He had been bed stricken with fever for the third consecutive day. Lawrence made a mental note, wash blankets. But there was some pestering memory that he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how many mental notes he made. He had dreamt of being Jonathan. Again.
Jonathan was no stranger at all. Lawrence had met Jonathan once, right after their high school days were over. Those truly were times of glory and self-destruction… alcohol, girls and lavish parties around the pretense of celebrating graduation. His memory had been pierced –many times – by the cold and unforgiving blackouts. Whenever he reached out his subconscious for details, he encountered a thick, clouded wall of uncertainty. Yet he always remembered meeting Jonathan. A queer young man – heavy weight gossips had always included false details about his unknown life. Rumors had carried Jonathan’s fake fame throughout every single social circle possible. To believe rumors or not, Lawrence would always care less. Meeting Jonathan, though, was really a product of perfectly weaved strings of destiny. Jonathan saved his life. That was something Lawrence could never afford to care less about.
It was a beach party. Or a ranch close to the ocean. It surely the last party celebrating graduation, thus the extravaganza and overwhelming amount of delicious toxic beverages. The sun had barely kissed the horizon, still giving enough light to make the final preparations for the main event hours later. The party had not even begun, yet Lawrence was already close to passing out. His friends had deserted him, in search for attractive women, not repulsive drunkards. Lawrence made his way to the beach. After ten excruciatingly long minutes of walking, Lawrence finally reached the shore. Lawrence took a few steps, leaving deep footprints on the blackened sand, fumbled and that was the end of his weak line of consciousness.
Until Jonathan woke him up with a bucketful of seawater.
superficial words journal 