The Reincarnation

John woke up with an orchestra in his head. Trying to sit up and trying to shake the sound out, he found he could do neither. He stank of meat. The drool on his chin had hardened while he was passed out on the kitchen floor. Flecks of it cracked off and fell onto his shirt.

John was immobile. The only part of him that was working was his eyes. Marvelling at how high the kitchen counter seemed from the floor, he studied it and the cabinets towering above it. He had never seen his kitchen from this angle before. Solid cherry cabinets – Jesus, he thought, wood was expensive. Gold handles. Leaded glass on the cabinets next to the sink. Where was Hannibal? He should have been hungry by now. John should have saved him some of the meat. He must have been sick of the crap John had to give him.

She’s a nose dragger.

Jesus, what was happening to his life? Yesterday at this time he couldn’t have been happier. How could so much have gone so wrong in twenty-four hours?

What about the last twenty-five years, John? His mind woke up a bit and started asking the questions. How many times have you felt like you weren’t all there? How many times did you feel like it was all too good? How many times did you feel like you were living on borrowed time? How many times were you surprised by the feeling that you had been through these motions before?

Bullshit, John remonstrated, he was who he had always been. He was just having some trouble right now, that was all. He struggled to move and failed. That was it. He wouldn’t discuss it.

Won’t you? Where will you go to avoid it? You’re not exactly going to get up and go jogging to clear your mind, are you?

Well, it’s bad now, John thought, but it has to get better. Right? This can’t be it.

Can it?