He was running, he didn't apprehend what he was running from, but he ran and when he tried to look back, he wasn't able to. What was he running from and why. He woke up drenched with sweat, it was only a dream. A dream that he wouldn't want to remember. He sat straight up from his bed, beads of sweat rolled down the side of his unshaven face. Confused from the dream, he wondered what it might have meant. He rolled out of bed and walked sluggishly towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, he froze in his action, where did the clock go, and he frantically searched the dull Grey room with his eyes. At last, he found it, on the bookshelf, feeling relieved, he poured a glass of water in a crystal clear glass cup.
The water felt good, nice and cool against his dry throat, he felt better already. Not knowing what he was going to do next, he to turned to walk towards the t.v. When a flash appeared before his eyes. Blood was on the floor, he refused to look back and see what was happening, he kept running and running, then as quick as a wink, he was back into reality. Shaken up by the image, he grasped a chair and sat on it. He can feel a headache coming, he rubbed his temples with his two fingers. His features are simply, but yet sophisticated, at work wears the white collar shirt ironed to the exact crease, black pants, black tie and black jacket, juts the way he wants it, nice and plain. His hair is clean cut. That morning, he appeared to look less neat, but more casual, wearing his sweat pants and T-shirt that's been wrinkled to the tossing and turning of his sleep the night before, his unshaven face look as if he was having a relaxing day, instead of looking so tense all the time.
He thought to himself, what has he done wrong, he was what everybody wanted, handsome, smart, nice car, nice apartment, great personality and a perfect guy. What more