Drawn

Tom was just awakened by the sudden rush of heat under his pants, for a moment he lay there on his bed still debating in his thoughts if it is either a dream or reality. He pissed that is, since he could only feel the warm wet liquid soaking now his darkened pajamas. His faculty still lingers to that emotion, how shameful it is, a middle aged bachelor wetting his bed early in the morning staining the white sheets with that yellowish drain from his groin. He started to open his eyes, all he could see is the ceiling painted with white dust fixtures on the edges attaching the wall on the ceiling crafted with a series of tiny columns while the rotating fan above him with clicking bolts sounded like hell let loose screeching every second as it turns, so annoying that he could force the pillow to engulf his ears for a moment. He was half way to get up, moving his feet off the bed, when another sound cracked him and his semi- oblivion state, a bashing noise near his bed by the table rattling, banging itself on the lamp, the alarm clock moved crashing the ashtray as it vibrates then continually dropping to the floor. Right then Tom opened his eyes, moving across the room dragging his feet, the floor seemed to suck up his feet as he walked across the hall. The bathroom….