Here’s another segment in the saga of Alex Mauldin. Warning: Mild swearing.
Alex jerked suddenly, feeling as though he were falling from some great height. “Ahh,” he thought to himself, “we’ve made it to this part of the night.”
He knew that the next hour or so would be filled with similar events, slipping into that half-lucid twilight state between sleeping and wakefulness. It was a miserable place to be. Fighting sleep is always a harsh proposition when you’re sleep deprived, but Alex knew that if he tried to embrace the sandman, he’d only end up getting a restless sleep, and awaken more exhausted than when he started. Resigned to the idea of getting no rest tonight, Alex decided to open his head and clear his lungs. A moonlight stroll was just what he needed.
Grabbing the handle on the side of the chair, Alex gently pressed his heels into the footrest. Biting his tongue, he squeezed his eyes hard, leaning his head forward, willing the mechanism to release quietly. His arm tensed as pulled back on the handle. He could feel the back-pressure of the tensioner spring pushing against his legs. Sensing the slight torque in the armature of the folding footrest, he slightly increased the pressure on his left leg, trying to gently nudge it past the breakover point, as he slightly backed off on pulling the lever. He could almost feel the notch in the gear underneath the seat, and knew that it was teetering on the brink of slipping into place. This was it. He was going to beat the chair, and lower it quietly, keeping peace in the night air. He took a deep a breath and pushed his feet just a touch more strongly.
“Dammit,” thought Alex as he rose, looking back at the chair, threateningly, “I’ll beat you yet.”