Book One First encounter

Part 6

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I Struggled out of bed around 9.00am with a throat as dry as sandpaper, and heavy pounding in my head like a drumbeat, feeling very much like a battery with all the charge drained out of it.

After a quick shower to wake myself up I made my way back into my bedroom to throw on some fresh clothes, a black polo neck jumper, and a pair of blue stonewashed denim jeans, with the logo EASYWEAR sewn onto the back pocket. Opening the bottom drawer of my dresser I pulled out a pair of socks; moving over to the bed, and stooping over to grab my shoes from under it, as soon as I was dressed, I walked out my bedroom door, forcing my still fragile feeling body out into the hallway, and down the stairs.

Cutting through the living room, and then straight into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee in my favourite blue mug which was still sitting on the black marble kitchen counter where I left it, stretching up till I was balancing on tiptoes I reached up to grab two headache tablets from the medicine cabinet opposite the food pantry, hoping to ease the throbbing pain in my head, I then focused my attention on the window opposite me, cradling my coffee cup between my hands as I stared out at the grey sky beyond the painted blue window frame

Moving closer to the window I dropped my cup into the grey plastic wash bowl in the sink below, and made my way back into the living room, walking out the door at the far end of the room, and out into the hallway, until I came to a Stop at the coat racks. Only this time instead of my leather jacket, I grabbed the thick wool lined brown suede jacket that my mum had bought me for Christmas just gone, just in case the weather took a nasty turn again.

Grabbing my keys, and wallet from out of my leather jacket, which was still soaking wet from getting caught in the rain the other day, I stuffed my house keys into the left hand pocket of the coat I had on, opening the front door, and exchanging my wallet to my jeans pocket, before stepping outside into the cool morning air, reaching back with my free hand to shut the door solidly behind me.

I then started to walk towards Cragston hill, my eyes fixed on the sky above, which had darkened considerably in the space of just a few seconds. Great...I thought....knowing my luck with the weather here...it would probably rain again.... I had been here for less than a week...but so far I had managed to get drenched on two separate occasions...Well at least you wrapped up warm this time...I mused... as I shuffled through a thick patch of grass, passing by a group of rare, and radiant wildflowers as I began to make my way downhill, and toward the harbour, which was little more than a tiny speck in the distance.

I could make out a row of fishing boats docked at the pier, the stooped figures of several fishermen atop each one, their attention focused on the congregation of customers who were gathering round them.

Walking back up Brahms Street, I turned the corner, and headed back up Stoker Avenue, and then onto Saul Street, and across a small grassy field, that led me back to Charlak's coffee house. The shop door, which was which round the other side of the building was slightly ajar, Pushing it all the way open, I went inside, easing my way past the line of people queuing up at the shop counter, waiting to pay for their meals, the queue stopping just short off the front door.

Every available space was taken up, save one near the bar. Crammed with customers, it was full to bursting point, leaving little room to breathe, or move around comfortably without getting elbowed, shoved or stamped on. What little ventilation there was failing miserably to make the room feel any less hot and stuffy, suddenly claustrophobic by all the people crowded round me, and I had a sudden irrational urge to run out into the street to find some space to clear my head.

Cutting a path round the tables, and the people gathered round them, I made my way over to the spare table I had seen near the bar, moving towards it, as quickly and as carefully as I could before another customer swooped down, to claim it. By the time I had crossed over the floor, and placed my hands on the back of the chair, I felt as if I been ten rounds in a boxing ring, from all the knocks I had received on my way over. Chairs sliding outwards, banging into me, people stepping on my feet, mixed in with apologies which I could barely make out over the sound of everyone talking at once.