Sorry for my absence... Valentine's Day, School, Musical, and depression from a looming break-up have consumed my time. Anyway, I figured I'd post Chapter 2 awhile and save my miscarriaged novel.
fyi: Chapter One's Title is "The End"
Chapter Two: Reawakening.
Darius' eyes flew open and his pupils widened as he awakened from his dream. In a cold sweat despite the wintry atmosphere leaking in from his thin, tall windows, he glances about the room in a panic. The only thing he can see is darkness coating the room in a thick, ebony blanket; it was almost palpable. The only sources of light were his alarm clock, which only illuminated the underneath of his bed since he had knocked it off his nightstand as he sat up; and dim light filtering through the accumulation of snow covering his windows, coming from the old streetlamp below his apartment.
As he gathered his breath, he tried to recall his dream. It wasn't difficult, this was the 4th night in a row he'd had the dream afterall. He returned his alarm clock to its original position and read the light blue LED display; 2: 34. He sighed, since he was starting to become narcoleptic at work from his nightmares, and turned on his bedside lamp. The room was illuminated in a dull yellow light, as he preferred over the hard brightness cast by compact flourescents, and he reached for his journal. This was only his second entry in said journal, as he had only decided to start keeping one after the dream repeated the first time, and both entries since were more or less the same, but with building detail as the nights progressed.
He finished writing, rubbed his eyes (which were green today), and looked around his apartment. It was a small, yet well-kept place, with 4 rooms total. The "bedroom" which also served as an office, game room, and sometimes guest room (as he tried to be a Gentleman, he let his misstresses sleep in his bed and he slept on the couch outside, if the weather was too inconvienient for them to leave safely, yet they were not romantically, or sexually, engaged). The wallpaper (which he intended to tear down and paint on, creating a mosiac out of his wall, when/if he got the Landowner's say-so) was a pea-green color, and was faded from the sunlight on the wall opposite the windows. The furniture, what was there of it, was mis-matched and shabby, most of it taken from his old room when he lived with his parents only a half-decade ago, but a few pieces from yard sales which he acquired during his travels. The carpeting (which he put down over hardwood floor, one of the few things he appreciated in another's house but hated in his own) was a periwinkle color, not quite blue nor purple, but a mix of the two with a brighter color, not quite white, added in as well.
Darius gets up out of bed, something he immediatly regrets having slept in his boxers, and walks over to the snow-covered windows. One of the few things he loved about the place before having rented it, the windows were 4 in number, each about a foot and a half wide and five feet tall, yet a mere one and a half feet from the floor itself. They allowed for a magnificent view of the harbor beyond, and of the lights from Boston even further beyond that. He shook his head in frustration, trying to shake that dream out of his head for the fourth night in a row, his longer-than-average black hair, naturally streaked blonde in places, fell just short of his eyes when he stopped. He knew he'd seen that girl, that apartment, and even seen the skyscraper from where he fell out of. It also bugged him that the dreams had all been seen in third person, despite himself having been the center focus of the dream. He scratched his scalp, again in frustration, and decided it was best to go "All American" on this one, and use drugs to solve the issue for now. Perscription, of course, just not in the regulated dosage, he took two tablets of "Nuero-Inhibation Pills" which claimed to slow down the nuerons of your brain while you slept. Knowing in the back of his head that no such thing was possible without the use of heavy-duty depressants, such as alchohol (and even then he dreamt about "Lilith", as he called this Brown-Haired killer), and retired to bed.
Taking one last look around his bedroom, Darius thought to himself, "Economically sound or not, I've gotta start finding better places to stay... Thankfully the media doesn't know that the richest man in the State is currently bunking down in some run-down apartment complex in historic Massachusets..." and with that thought in mind, the founder of the nation's largest energy provider slept peacefully.
End Chapter Two.