Sleepy Insomniac

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Part 1

The Singing Swan

- Chapter 1 -

Bad Tastes In Company

| 1 |

The grind only turned him off, Robert Sest, a man with a mood so dull he could hear crickets chirping. Being able to hear anything was quite a feat considering the volume of the trance line thumping through the floor from the rave below. Red light alternated with black shadows as his newfound evening entertainment, Ki-ki, the black love-button, rode him up and down. She looked like a faux professional stripper besting a man-bull and swinging an invisible lasso with hopes the display would generate a hoot, a holler, and maybe a few more singles in her thong. It was most unfortunate, Rob thought, that Ki-ki actually was a stripper, albeit one that barely qualified. For whatever reason, he had decided to spend hard money on her with hopes that her dancing would improve in the dark and her looks would improve with the liquor. Well, Rob thought, we can't all be winners.

Neon-green lasers zapped through the chain-linked windows that looked out across the smoke-filled demon's nest below until Ki-ki leaned in close, blocking Rob's view. Her fake, shapely breasts squished against his chest as she gripped his shoulders, rubbed them in and dug her fingers into his blades. In a sad attempt at being seductive, she gave a swift lick to his ear-lobe and smiled a little. A breathy voice followed.

"Do you like that, baby?" she hissed. With a slight cough, Rob forced the air out of his lungs, expulsing the taste and the scent her breath funneled into his nostrils. Her breath wasn't bad; it was rancid. As close as Rob could tell, it was a mixture of smoke, alcohol and vomit.

"Get the fuck off me," Rob gasped with the remaining air in his lungs. He was still too afraid to breathe.

"What's the matter? Too hot for you?" she giggled as she doubled the pace of her grind like a washing machine switching into spin cycle. Rob gave her a blank stare.

Grabbing the backside of his chair, Rob forcefully stood up, allowing Ki-ki to slide off his waist and plop onto the floor with a thud. She landed on her ass and her hands behind her back, like she was sitting there all along. She fired him a nasty look.

"You little-dick mother fucker," she snarled, "you gonna get fucked up tonight...you hear me? Fucked up."

"As long as you aren't the one doing the fucking," Rob replied. Ki-ki scowled and flapped up from the floor, arms flailing and thighs jiggling as she tapped away in her 8-inch high-heels. If there was a single decent quality Ki-ki could lay claim to, Rob thought, it would be walking in those candle sticks. On the other hand, she probably only wore those to work, and with the skill she displayed walking in them, that meant she worked a lot.

Ki-ki stormed down the narrow upstairs landing towards the very large, very bald JoeMan Bouncer sitting on a stool next to an open doorway leading to the stairway. He was absorbed with writing in a newspaper crossword-puzzle and hadn't noticed Rob and Ki-ki's little skirmish. When her heels clipity-clopped close enough to him, where the sound could travel through the trance line, his narrow eyes glanced up at her. Normally, the girls would float on by, another job accomplished, no mess, no fuss, but when a girl would make eye contact, he knew there was trouble. Ki-ki, never one for subtlety, went one step further once she got to the face of the doorway. After giving JoeMan a clear, distinct look, she flipped a clear, distinct middle-finger in Rob's direction. JoeMan turned his head to Rob and calmly laid his newspaper onto another stool he was using to rest his foot on. Ki-ki disappeared downstairs as he commenced his slow, plodding bouncer-walk across the room. The walk, slow and musclely, looked like a large dinosaur on a path to lay waste to a neighbor's nest. To JoeMan, it was badass; to Rob, it was a waste of time. Eventually, JoeMan arrived.

"Get out...or I'm gonna take you out," JoeMan growled. Rob looked at JoeMan for just enough time to make it uncomfortable. Then, Rob lifted up a dollar between his fingers up next to his face and wiggled it a few times.

"Where we goin'?"

| 2 |

Empty bottles and aluminum bins CRASHED as Rob's momentum sent him sprawling into the back alley rubble. His forehead dove and bounced off the pavement with a loud POP that splashed dark stars into his field of view. Silence bit his eardrums and a ringing sound, gradually increasing in volume, overcame any thoughts or feelings his body could produce. All his mind could process after reaching the end of his beating were the three hulking figures silhouetted in the light spilling out of the club's open back door. One figure was clearly JoeMan, but two additional figures, bigger than he was, stood in a staggered array behind him. Wasting little time, they left only a flash of an image as they disappeared into the light. The large, metal door snapped shut, blowing a gust of air into Rob's blood-streaked hair and shrouding his eyes in darkness like a large candle that had been violently blown out. Rob's eyes shut, his conscious giving way, his mind blanking, allowing whatever held within to take over.

What the fuck happened with me? a voice whispered as the world around him faded. When did everything go so wrong?

| 3 |

RIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG

Rob's head snapped up and his hands grabbed his ears. Shortly after, the ringing stopped and the echo of the school bell faded. Slowly letting go of one ear and opening up his eyes, Rob rubbed against the side of his face; it felt red, even though he couldn't see it. His face had been planted on the desk in front of him. A school desk, just like he used to have, in the old days. A character he invented, "Steekman", rested at the top right corner in all his sharply drawn glory. That familiar wink and thumb up reached out to Rob, that not so subtle way of Steekman saying You suck, Rob, but that's OK. Someday things are gonna be allll-right....*WINK* ;)

Rob's eyes rolled up, taking in his surroundings. Desks like his own ran down the room in parallel rows. The classroom walls quivered as students faded into view, filling the desks and giving a sense of place for Rob. It was immediately recognizable; Ms. Dumey's class, junior year (Or was it sophomore?). It was odd being here, but not without a sense of reason. After Rob's recent escapade in the alley, his mind needed something a little more straightforward to distract him from the pain his body must be feeling. It was still resting, he was sure, in that alleyway covered by all that trash full of beer and piss. Ms. Dumey's classroom, once a place of solid contempt compared to the rest of Rob's school day, now felt like a sanctuary, as good of one as any to quell his mind. Sure, it wasn't great sex, and with that thought, Rob laughed...even in a dream, it was hard to remember, much less imagine, those wonderful times in comfortable beds with exceptional women. There really weren't any...none that could classify as "exceptional", anyway.

"Something to add, Mr. Sest?" Ms. Dumey asked as an entire room full of eyes turned to face Rob. I must've laughed out loud, Rob thought, and with that he laughed again. Thoughts, then Rob's real voice, echoed against each other, Why the hell does it matter-"Why the hell does it matter?! I'm dreaming!"

"I know...I could see you were sleeping. You still have a puddle of drool on your desk," Ms. Dumey countered. The classroom laughed, pointing. Uproarish. Rob looked down at his desk. Dumey was right; a big puddle of saliva had formed on top of Steekman's face, which now carried an unpleasant frown. Rob whipped his hand across the puddle, smearing Steekman's face into a gluttonous blob. Why the fuck am I-"Why the fuck am I here?!" Rob's inner and outer voice echoed. Ms. Dumey stood and lightly punched the top of her desk, almost appalled.

"There will NOT be that kind of language used in my classroom, Mr. Sest!" she demanded. Rob ignored her, his voice(s) continuing their rampant conversations with himself. If this was just a memory of Ms. Dumey busting his balls, he wanted out, right now. He didn't care what kind of pain his body was feeling, but that wasn't the only reason. He had something to do.

Something-"Something...what was it?" he whispered.

"I have something to add, Ms. Dumey." Rob's ear twitched. That voice, that heavenly voice. It was clearer than Rob's voice ever could be and its timbre alone was tempting enough to milk unconscious favors from the boys and men that heard it. Rob knew who it belonged to, but his mind blocked the name out. Pain would only come with remembering. Deep, deep pain.

"OK, |******|, let's hear it," Ms. Dumey responded, folding her arms.

"I think Robert's grumpy and needs his juice box after his nap," the voice chimed. Laughter exploded and eyes darted back at him, eyes of all those boys and girls Rob had long forgotten the names of. Even Ms. Dumey had to fight a grin from her lips. Rob didn't care...he wasn't even embarrassed. He just knew that he needed to wake up soon, before recalling the identity of the voice's owner and subjecting himself to something he certainly didn't need in his current life. More pain.

"Ow!" Rob gasped as he grabbed his shoulder where someone had punched him. Rob turned, but instantly realized that was a mistake; the puncher was the very person he was trying to avoid. A playful (but kinda painful) love punch came from the girl to his left, the owner of the voice, and the memory Rob was avoiding. He managed to blur out her face and eyes, but her hair, chest and arms were clearly visible.

"Don't be such a baby, Robby," the voice lectured. Even with the blurring, Rob could see hints of a heart-thumping smile and eyes that could melt glass. Skin of white, tanned flesh, hair dark and brown and flowing, and the hint of eye color matching the hue of her hair, she called out to him, even as a figment. Especially her eyes, even blurred, Rob could tell they were deep, dark and unavoidable.

Without warning, the world around Rob vanished as his conscious took hold, the pain stitching its way into his chest, face and back, and the wetness of the garbage he was lying in soaked into his clothes. In spite of the rapid loss of memory from his dreamlike encounter with his memories, Rob's mind produced a name, and it was the first thing to escape his lips the moment his conscious restored.

(coming soonish...for previous work, look up 'Taste the Rainbow')

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