The sun peered in through the curtains and shone through the eyelids of Mitchell Welby, waking him up. It was a beautiful September morning to launch the makings of a wonderful day.
Sitting up and pulling the covers off his body, he got out of bed and stretched. A budding of excitement filled his gut – today was his first day as head chef of Michon Ruber’s, he had worked seven years to get this far in his career. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, a grin broadened across his face; today would be a great day.
The sweet smell of bacon wafted up from the kitchen downstairs on the first floor of the house; his wife Gwen must have made breakfast for him and their son, Alexander. An even wider grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he pulled a robe over his pyjamas. A good, hearty breakfast was the best beginning to any day, especially a breakfast that included the family.
Mitchell’s thunderous footsteps echoed down the stairs as he made his way into the kitchen to the head of the breakfast table. A moment later, a plate of eggs, bacon and toast stared up at him from the table. He spoke cheerfully, “It smells wonderful, Gwen.”
A smiling thirty-five year old brunette stared over at him from her place before the stove with her sparkling hazel eyes. “Thanks honey,” she replied, a light glow emanating off her skin. “Today’s a big day for you so I thought you’d appreciate a nice wholesome breakfast to calm your nerves.” Turning the stove top off, she walked over and sat on the chair to the right of Mitchell.
Across the table from his wife sat their eight year old son, with his jet black hair in a mess and his hazel eyes bubbling with excitement. He sat there in a happy silence, almost bouncing out of his seat while he ate his breakfast in a hurry.
Mitchell chuckled softly as he watched Alexander. “Whoa, slow down, son. You don’t want to choke on your toast, because you know about the boy who choked on his toast?” Alex shook his head feverishly, all bright eyed and Mitchell glanced over at his wife shaking her head with a smile. “Well he transformed into a piece of toast himself, quite big and very burnt.”
Alexander looked over at his mother with wide eyes and his mouth gaping open. “R- r- really?” he asked, not actually expecting an answer. Mitchell grinned when the pace at which his son scarfed down his food deteriorated to snail pace slow.
Although a smile hung on her lips, Gwen spoke, “Don’t scare the boy, Mitch.” And then she turned to her son. “You won’t turn into burnt toast if you choke on a bite.” She gave her husband a look. “However, it’s still not a good thing to eat in such a hurry because you don’t want your father and me to get scared to death when you choke on your breakfast.”
Glancing back at his wife, he caught the time on the clock behind her. “School starts in forty-five minutes and I’ve got an hour to get to work, so don’t eat too slow,” he explained, as Gwen finished off her plate and stood up.
Something strange happened at that moment, in her wake – Mitchell noted – what seemed to be rips appeared. The odd thing was, these rips were hovering in thin air and inside the tears there seemed to be a bluish static almost seeping out.
A puzzled expression appeared on his face as he stared at these oddities. While he watched them, he didn’t notice Alex bring his plate over to his mother, but he did notice the tears that he left behind. As the two of them moved, the tears continued to multiply and all he could do was blink.
“H-honey, do you see anything strange?” he asked the woman currently filling up the dishwasher. Wrenching his eyes from the pockets of static, he looked directly at her.
She turned to him and spoke, her brows furrowed, “Like what?” That was when Mitchell noticed her eyes. No longer were they their gorgeous hazel coloured, but a stitching of black encompassing more blue static.
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Short Stories
FantasyA wide range of short prose fiction, from Bloodless to Comatose.
