A Long Midnight

[Novalyyn]

((Not that I expect anything, but here's a random thing. Throw something at it if you feel like it.))

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...

Midnight again. Dean stared blankly upward, aware that a white ceiling was somewhere above, though he could not perceive it. He blinked, shivered, and threw off the covers a moment later. Sitting up, he groped for the light switch, trying to stave off the prickling terror rising within him.

Light flooded the room, forcing Dean to wince and blink several times in an attempt to reclaim his sight. Steadily, his room can into view. Clothes and miscellaneous items were strewn about the floor, with a path that led to the vital spots and carpet peeking through here and there. A bottle of sleeping pills lay sideways near the lamp, knocked over in the process of turning on the light. The clock whose soft chimes he'd counted not ticked away serenely, almost as if feigning ignorance to the trouble it caused. Everything was as he'd left it, and there was no sign of anything to have inspired so much fear.

It was the same as every other time.

He sighed and shook his head. The clock's ticking faded into the background, and some moments later, Dean grabbed a t-shirt and some jeans that smelled clean and got dressed. A light jacket, his wallet, a knife in case he needed to defend himself. With a final glance at the clock to confirm that none of the hands had moved beyond midnight, he ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, and headed out to see what was open.

[Novalyyn]

It was mostly bars available to him, along with the odd convenience store here and there. A drink sounded good. Dean walked the streets in silence, searching for one with a name the seemed good. Along the way, he passed by the occasional bum, asleep in some doorway hollow. Nothing moved; it seemed even the wind had stopped.

Eventually, he gave up on the bar names, deciding he was just delaying himself for no reason. The next he saw, he entered, ignoring the silent smokers outside and the smoke that didn't dance. Nor did he try to get the attention of a barkeeper; he simply found his way behind it and poured himself a drink. All around, there were people engaged in life - friends with smiles and open mouths, one-night-stands in the making, tired people trying to drink life away - all still as statues. It was as if someone had built a museum of the world, but these were not mannequins. They were people, soft and warm, but frozen.

Dean could hear a soft ticking; there was a clock somewhere. Somehow, the clocks always kept ticking, even when everything else - even their own hands - stopped moving. He downed a shot and poured another, dulling the fear that lingered still in the back of his mind.