The Bed - Story 18 of 31
Harold, an Okapi, struggles with getting out of bed to start his day.
The Bed-Story 18 of 31
By Ta’kom Ironhoof
Harold was feeling overwhelmed and, even though he was fully awake, the Okapi continued laying in his bed. His body screamed in pain with each movement as he stretched his arms in legs. Even his chest burned in agony when taking a deep breath.
One part of Harold wanted to get up, to go outside, to drive down to the beach, or to even just clean the house. Something, anything besides lying here. But another part of the disheveled Okapi was lethargic and worn down by all the years of laborious struggle.
For most, this ‘struggle’ would be trivial. Most everyone else would wake up, toss their legs off the mattress, and begin their day. For Harold the Okapi, he had to fight just to move. It wasn’t because Harold was lazy. His bed simply wouldn’t let him go.
It was warm.
It was inviting.
It was possessive of any body that was laid upon it.
To Harold’s credit, the frame, box spring, and mattress were already here when he first moved into this house several years ago. Being a poor college student at the time, he couldn’t afford new furniture, so he resigned himself to using what had been left behind from the previous tenants. There were plenty of things that had been left behind. For instance, a china cabinet that was left in the attic. Though Harold had no use for it and decided to leave it up there, he really appreciated not having to buy and move furniture.
Even the appliances had been left behind. Though Harold rarely used them, he still appreciated it. As he continued to lie there, Harold briefly thought about why someone would have left all of these things behind. He mused it was possible that they had purchased all new things and no longer had need of these pieces. Then his mind shifted to a thought that maybe they simply didn’t have room for everything and left behind what they couldn’t take.
These thoughts were a pleasant distraction to the Okapi. Maybe he’d have time to consider it further once he go up, ‘if’ he got up this time.
Though it burned his torso, Harold breathed in deep and let out a sigh of resignation. He had already been laying here for several days at this point and he wondered if he still had the power to move on his own, to escape the loving embrace of the quilted mattress top beneath him. As one might imagine, having been laying there for several days at this point, the Okapi had obviously relieved himself right where he lay. He’d also not showered; not allowed to, given that he was stuck in this predicament.
Harold the Okapi was a sloppy, disgusting, and slothful mess of a creature at this stage.
A spark of frustration ignited in Harold’s heart. Though it was always incredibly painful, he had fought through it before. He knew he had to fight through it again. And, as long as he didn’t lie back down on the mattress, he didn’t have to continue to endure this torment.
He’d tried to sleep on the couch downstairs in the living room, but he found it was incredibly itchy and that was enough that he couldn’t fall asleep. The Okapi had tried to sleep directly on the floor but the ancient hardwood flooring was very uncomfortable, even when he had tried to build a pallet with thick blankets. Harold had even gone so far as to use the various pieces in the attic to build a makeshift bed, but the chilling wind from outside made it incredibly cold. The howls that passed by the shutters on the octagonal attic window also didn’t help matters either..
He tried the bathtub, the stove, the dining table. He tried every single spot in this house that was flat, but none of them compared to THIS bed. It was the only place where he could fall asleep. That part Harold enjoyed. It was getting up in the morning that he dreaded.
His coworkers had called him crazy when he tried to tell them what was happening. His doctor ignored Harold, even when he had brought evidence proving that he was telling the truth. Instead, the doctor just prescribed sleeping pills, chalking up these ‘delusions’ to a lack of restful sleep. How could someone who was trained in medicine ignore the wounds? Just ignore the obvious strands of thread that had woven themselves through Harold’s flesh, entangling through his fur and matting it with blood?
The spark of frustration had now built into a raving ball of fiery determination. With as much effort as Harold could muster, he pulled his arm away from the surface of the matters as fast as he could. He knew that if he didn’t do it quick, he’d lose his nerve.
As he ripped his arm away from the mattress, the mattress ripped tiny pieces of his flesh and fur away from his arm; the threads that had grown through his arm as he sleep breaking and snapping from the force but not before exiting through his muscles. The sudden searing pain made Harold’s eyes well up with tears and he screamed in pain. Harold began to sob, feeling the warm trickles of freshly drawn blood from the small tears that the threads had left behind.
One limb down, four to go.
With another effort, he ripped his other arm away from the surface of the mattress with the same result as before. That burning, searing pain was a reminder of why his body hurt so much in the first place. It was a reminder of why he needed to get off of this bed. But the pain also served to dwindle his will.
As Harrold lay there breathing heavy through his sobs of anguish, he began to feel lightheaded, a queasy feeling coming over his stomach. Though Harold was determined, the anemia his body was experiencing from the many years of gradual blood loss would be his doom.
Harold passed out. And by the following morning, the bed had consumed every part of him.