untitled_507 flux he bolts directly into consciousness, words echoing slowly down the back of his mind. he's annoyed that he can't directly tell if it was a dream or not, and gets up to investigate, though not too hurriedly. flips on slippers and slides across the too cold linoleum. peeks through the blinds. can't see a damn thing, fog and darkness, the barest hint of dawn. fuckity. another scream, and he's on his toes, halfway out the door with maglite in hand before it dies. down the stairs without a thought on his mind, pure reflex, tasting maybe just a little bit of fear. 051011 what's it to you? who go blather from