The Bed Bell Tolls

My alarm clock blares beside me. I open my eyes. It’s six o’clock in the morning. It’s still dark out. The only light in this opaque blackness is the red digits on the digital clock. The clock sits on the wooden bedside table, still beeping it’s high-pitched tones. I sit up and turn off the alarm. Its single note rings in my ear and reverberates through my memory. It is the only thing I can hear. It’s pitch slides up and down slowly along a spectrum or a gradient. It is time for me to get ready for the day: get dressed (replace nightgown with day-clothes), brush teeth, eat breakfast, brush teeth a second time, remove day-clothes, take a shower, get dressed again (new clothes), take my medicine. But before I can do any of that…

My alarm is ringing. I have more than one. All set to different times. I see the color red flash across my vision, blinding me everytime the sound repeats. The alarm is blaring, beeping, sounding, ringing. It’s high-pitched squeals ring in my ears. I have tinnitus. I must have tinnitus. It is so loud. I turn off the alarm. I can still hear it. I try to unplug the alarm, but it’s cord is behind the table. This bedside table. I get out of bed and lay prone on the ground. I can’t see the electric socket. I stand back up and inspect the alarm. It’s off. It’s the first alarm I turned off. The alarm is still ringing. It’s my phone. I haven't turned it off yet. I pick it up. I turn off the…alarm is ringing. My third and final alarm.

I open my eyes. Have they been closed? I look around. This alarm is a voice recording, insisting that I get up. I am already up. Can’t it see that? I open my eyes again, I can’t feel my eyelids. How do I know if they are open or closed? It is so dark. That red light. It blinds me. It moves across my vision from right to left, right to left. What is that red light? Where does it come from? I open my eyes. The ringing changes into rapid up and down in pitch. It’s almost visible in my mind as it seems a zig-zag wave of sound. A siren blaring for my attention. What more can I do? I open my eyes. This time, I’m not in my room.

It’s dark, but a single red light from the ceiling flashes across the room. A red, rotating light, as is sometimes seen on the tops of some cars. It’s upside-down, attached to the ceiling. The room walls are white but seem pink in the red light. The room is tiny. It is barely larger than my bed. This bed is small and thin. A light-blue, plastic-like sheet covers me and the bed. I look over the side of my bed. Like most beds, it elevates far above the floor, up to my knees in height. But this bed doesn’t have a traditional bed frame. Two metal poles cross each other in an “x” shape to hold up the bed. There are wheels at the bottom. On either side of me, shelves go up to the short ceiling. I still hear my alarm ringing.