This is Not Going to Be a Good Day

This is not going to be a good day.

Photo by Declan Sun on Unsplash

I would pinch myself to make sure I am not still asleep but I can’t reach. My wrists are strapped to this chair. The wall is covered with one of those light blocking curtains so I can’t tell where I am. I try to look around but my head won’t move. The hat on my head feels odd, not my usual baseball cap.

Someone is talking to me. I don’t see him but I hear him behind me.

Am I comfortable? Is that what you’re asking me? Are you kidding?

Yeah. Perfect. Maybe you can get me a cup of coffee and a toasted everything bagel with cream cheese and lox?

He doesn’t laugh. I thought it was funny.

Ok if you don’t toast it beforehand.

He doesn’t laugh at that either.

The curtain opens. It must be remotely controlled. It squeaks. I could fix that. A little WD40 would help. I could just run down to Home Depot and get some.

No response. These guys have no sense of humor.

The one in black holding a book must be some kind of preacher. He stands facing me through the glass. He looks sad. You would think he would be happy. He is sending me off to meet the big guy. Doesn’t he believe? Oh ye of little faith.

The one concerned with my comfort sneezes.

Watch it buddy. I don’t want to catch whatever you have.

Silence.

I have played to some dead audiences, but this is the pits.

Will there be a countdown?

The eyes beyond the glass look sad. Some look angry. It must be too early in the morning for them. Or maybe it’s too late. I can’t see the clock. It doesn’t matter. I have nowhere to go.

The preacher is reading and mumbling something I can’t hear. Not sure why he is there and not holding my hand.

In my head, the song Burn Baby Burn is playing. That’s a cruel joke, God. Change the station.

Now the Stones are playing. I never thought I would say this but bring back disco.

I wonder what station is playing where I am going. Silence would be nice but after a while it would be hell. Ha. Another joke. No laughter.

Some guy is now checking to see if I am strapped in tight. I wouldn’t want to fall off the chair. Come on, then, let’s get this over with. I can’t sit here all day.

The guy checks my straps again. Really? You think I will leap off the chair?

I try to remember how I got here, but what’s the point of that? I’m here.

Last words? Really?

How’s this? Four score and seven years ago…

Come on. It’s short. It was written on a napkin or envelope I think.

The impatience of these folks is irritating. I continue. …that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain…

I hear a chuckle. Good. I got through to him. A laugh would have been better, but I’ll take a chuckle.

As I finish, I feel the hood slip over my head. Lights out. I wonder what it will smell like.

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For Mina Howell’s March Micro Flash FIction Challenge