Cicada

I laid there, wrapped in the soft embrace of my blankets. Pitch black darkness filled every corner of my vision, and my sense of self slowly melted away as I sunk deeper. I don't know how long I was there for, as time did not exist in that secluded space. All I remember is one moment I was asleep, and the next, I was awake. The layers and layers of coverings each peeled off, as I emerged from my lair. My eyes, adjusting to the light, travelled across my room, to the desk piled high with books I've never read, and to my plate of half-eaten pizza, until they slowly settled on the pair of dumbbells sitting innocently on the floor. These details combined and culminated into a monstrous emotion that wriggled deep inside me. Unproductivity. It had been weeks since the quarantine began, and my previous life of constant work seemed like if it had been a distant dream. And so as if to greet this foreign feeling, the fiery hot flames of motivation engulfed my entire being. My resolve was hard as iron, and I set myself towards changing my laziness. During my preparations, the image of the dumbbells flashed through my mind, and I grinned, for I had found the first step in my path towards salvation. It was morning, 6 AM. I had to decided to set a strict schedule for myself the night before, but instead of feeling the sharp blade of discipline, I instead felt the squishy bean bag of grogginess. Nevertheless, it was time for work. The morning air assaulted my senses as I stepped out, and yet the feeling of harsh cold needling my skin felt somewhat refreshing. Slipping into a pair of running shoes, I steeled myself for the upcoming journey. My feet bounced off the firm pavement, as my legs pumped in tandem. This was the first bit of exercise that I had done in a long time, and so accordingly, my body was dying. My view set straight on the ground, I played a game to distract myself from the pain. "You have to avoid the cracks, if you step on the cracks, the world will end." My suffering merely worsened, as the fate of the world was now added onto my burden. It continued for an unimaginable length of time, as my surroundings blurred into an unrecognizable mess. I had to stop or I would explode. Hands on my knees, I came to a crawl, and checked my timer through my muddled vision. 10 minutes. The eternity I experienced was summed down into 10 minutes. 600 seconds. The time it takes for a hot shower. The duration of a toilet trip. My perpetuity was equal to a toilet trip. My memory blanks after that, but somehow, I had gotten back to my door. According to my schedule, it was now time for some weight-lifting. However, as I started walking towards my dumbbells, with every movement my muscles groaned and my lungs screamed in protest. Clearly, any more exercise would turn my body into paste. The previously scorching motivation was reduced to a weak ember, flickering from the howls of my lungs. My resolve which seemed so impenetrable now seemed like a buttery caricature of Spongebob, with its many openings. What was I doing, and why was I doing it? "What's the issue with resting a little?" I asked myself, starting to gravitate towards my bed. I began to pull blankets over me as my motivation completely disappeared, "I'm just going to relax a bit." Familiar darkness wrapped itself around me, and I once again began my slumber.

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Mike Lyles

Author of “The Drive-Thru is Not Always Faste...

Staresville, United States