His eyes flew open as he woke with a start.
He took in his surroundings, trying to catch his breath. It had been much too real. Everything ached, and his head felt like someone had dropped a bomb on it. Bomb. The ashes. Gurney.
He shook his head wildly, but it seemed as if it was a stuttered motion. He walked towards the huge black mirror that occupied most of his wall. He could faintly see the tattered edges of his latest dream, mixed carelessly into the abundance of random polaroids depicting the memories he wished to save.
He stared into its depths, banging his fist on the wall. He noticed the contours of his pale face, watching it flash its transparency as his skull came into view. The dark shadows that surrounded his eyes moved ever so slightly as he slowly raised his head.
It was time to leave. The dreams weren't usually so vivid. The gurney-man's subconscious had put up a strong fight. Taken too soon again, the figure supposed. His breathing still labored, he stumbled towards the window, sucking in ashy air. The sepia twilight shone bright, reminding him of the fluorescent ambience that defined his dream.
Reaching into his pocket quickly, he pulled out a cigarette, taking a long drag as he sighed. He stepped into his dusty overalls, putting on his cap firmly. This wasn't at all what he had expected when they told him it wouldn't hurt. Frankly, that was all it did; a dull roar shaking the back of his skull. He took a longing look into the mirror as he stubbed out the poorly used cigarette, his radio blaring the last of one of the better-known Parade songs, "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"