It was quarter to three in the morning when I woke up, sweating excessively and feeling choked. I threw the blanket off me and the moment I opened my eyes, I realized that my room was filled with thick white smoke. I jumped out of bed and almost instinctively ran to the window to catch a breath of fresh air. I took two deep breaths and returned to see that my pillow was smoldering over the room heater. Apparently my bad habit of throwing the pillow in my sleep could’ve taken me to my final slumber. I quickly switched the heater off and moved the pillow to one side after which I re-rushed to the window to catch a few breaths. The smoke was so thick I could barely see anything and was causing severe burning sensation in my eyes. I opened the windows of my room, shut the door and went outside with the smoking pillow. From there I could see thick smoke coming out as if a fire was raging inside. I rushed to my parent’s bedroom to check if the smoke had made its way there, thankfully it hadn’t. I did not wake my parents as I thought I could handle the situation without trespassing on their peace. I re-entered my room, switched the fan on and came out again after shutting the door tightly. It was an hour before the smoke cleared and I could enter the room without asphyxiating myself.
By now sleep had returned after having been temporarily shooed away by adrenalin. I slept in the blanket that still smelled of smoke, I kept waking up startled every now and then thinking that the carbon-monoxide (probably absorbed into the blanket and the curtains and every porous object in the room), quietly forming a stable complex with my hemoglobin and rendering it incapacitated, was gently putting me to a sleep from which I’d never wake up. Every start that I woke up with was followed by a sigh of relief; I wasn’t dying.
The windows open and the fan running at lowest speed. The cold, the smell of the smoke, the street light from the open window shining into the eyes could’ve made a cadaver uncomfortable, but I, I just couldn’t remain awake any longer…maybe the fumes had gotten me…maybe…maybe it was a hard day’s night!
By now sleep had returned after having been temporarily shooed away by adrenalin. I slept in the blanket that still smelled of smoke, I kept waking up startled every now and then thinking that the carbon-monoxide (probably absorbed into the blanket and the curtains and every porous object in the room), quietly forming a stable complex with my hemoglobin and rendering it incapacitated, was gently putting me to a sleep from which I’d never wake up. Every start that I woke up with was followed by a sigh of relief; I wasn’t dying.
The windows open and the fan running at lowest speed. The cold, the smell of the smoke, the street light from the open window shining into the eyes could’ve made a cadaver uncomfortable, but I, I just couldn’t remain awake any longer…maybe the fumes had gotten me…maybe…maybe it was a hard day’s night!
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