Crash and Burn

It does not occur to him that he has fallen asleep until his mug opens its eyes and says, ‘Rewind’. At which point his head snaps up and he stares hard at the mug sat innocently on the table before him, and blinks once or twice just to make sure. Mugs should not talk.

He stretches and rubs his eyes until he sees bright fuzzy stars, then slumps forward on the tabletop. On the opposite wall, an old fashioned wooden clock declares the time to be four thirty in the morning. His eyes burn, his head hurts, the taste of the hot chocolate does not seem to be registering with his frazzled brain, and to top it all- he checks his wristwatch- the icing on the remnants of the cake, he has to go to work in three hours. Fantastic.

He dozes off again before he realises it…

…And then he is awake again. And the clock tells him it has only been thirty seconds.

There is a twisty feeling in his stomach.

The kids in his classes aren’t stupid. His skin is pale, almost ghostly transparent. The way his hair stands up, electrocuted, in all directions, and his clumsiness- he walked into his own coffee table last week- they aren’t exactly subtle signs, and the kids won’t miss a trick. But nothing is wrong with him- medically, anyway. His doctor is the kind of brusque, unsympathetic businessman that nobody wants for a doctor. He’s not going to see him because he can do without that kind of character mutilation, thank you kindly. And he has tried the whole warm-milk-before-bed, lavender-scented-pillows package.

Everything, in short, is crashing and burning.