A Special Orange
Marcus sat by the window, pondering the morning away. The boats in the marina floated and gently tapped against one another. The neighbor’s dogs communicated with loud barks.
The temperature was seventy-one degrees—couldn’t get much better than that. Perfect weather and a beautiful view of the crimson water.
But Marcus was wrestling with some big thoughts inside the skull that held his confused brain—a brain that never turned off. Never powered down. Not even for sleep.
He couldn’t seem to remember why he was here. He didn’t even remember coming. Was this place a hotel? An apartment? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to leave the chair or the window.
He didn’t sleep here—at least not in the bed. He turned his head to look behind him, making sure it was still there. But to his confusion, there wasn’t one. It was a couch and a small office desk.
“What the…” he muttered under his breath. He was certain a bed was behind him.
He slowly rose from the chair and made his way toward the room by the front door, where he thought the bed would be. The bathroom was across from it. He poked his head inside—the bed was still made. It was perfectly untouched.
He could feel his heartbeat in his skull. Two rooms are merging in my mind, he thought. This confirmed that he didn’t sleep here. He can’t remember the last time he made his bed.
Marcus turned around and looked into the bathroom mirror. In a quiet, curious voice, he said, “I don’t remember the orange.”
His head was now an orange.