Jan. 02 Writing Prompt

A new day, a new prompt. I am excited. So no long-winded set of rules or superfluous introductions. Let’s just get on with the prompt.

It’s all Rubber

January 02

Everything is rubber! You knew your day was going to be weird, how could it not be after that dream. But, as you get up and start trying to accomplish your morning routine, you find everything is rubber. The toilet is rubber, the faucet handles are rubber, even the coffee that you attempt to pour is rubber.

Here is what I came up with. No edits, right from the top of my head. After you read it, let me know in the comments what you think!

It feels awkward, you know? Waking up after a dream like that. It isn’t often you dream you are dying and actually die in the dream. I’m just glad this isn’t the Matrix, or I would be gone for good right now.

I know my head is groggy and I can still feel the pounding on my chest where the Ambulance driver was giving me CPR in my dream. The craziest part, though was the feeling of them removing that piece of rubber tire out of my throat.

I keep talking to my girlfriend, even though she is obviously asleep. It is past time for her to wake up anyway.

Anyway, so apparently I was walking down some road, and there was a truck carrying a load of used tires or something. It hit a bump and the back latch came open and I was pelted by all of the tires falling out the bed of the truck. I was knocked over, and one tire smashed me right in the face!

Apparently it smashed my head into the ground and I was bleeding a lot. I don’t know. I know that something was in my throat and I couldn’t breathe.

Babe, why doesn’t the bathroom light work? Did it burn out last night?

So anyway I’m laying under all these tires, right, and I can hear sirens and people scrambling to uncover me. I still couldn’t talk, scream or breathe, it was so weird!

What the shit is this? Why does the floor feel like rubber, too? Hey babe? Wake up. The kitchen light is out. All the lights are out. I’m going to check the breaker.

I head to the breaker and realize that the little metal door is made of rubber. I lean against the fridge to rub my eyes and figure out what’s going on. The refrigerator flexes under my weight, and I realize it, too is rubber.

In an obvious attempt to rationalize everything, I realize I must still be dreaming. I pinch myself, then punch myself and the only things not made if rubber are apparently my hands and face. That hurt!

I scream and my girlfriend doesn’t respond so I rush to check on her. She is laying there, rubber eyes staring at the rubber ceiling, the rubber sheets still covering her rubber body.

Rushing to the front of the house, I tug on the door handle. The door wobbles as I pull it open, the smell of hot rubber meeting my nose.

In a panic I rush outside into the darkness. The sun is there, but it isn’t giving off any light. It looks… rubber. The grass is rubber under my feet. I trip on a rubber stick and land face first on the rubber hood of my now-rubber car.

It is silent, no air. No people, no engine noise from the highway.

Everything is rubber!

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