The Chosen Chronicles - Mules, Knaves and Close Shaves

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I couldn't be blamed for not wanting to go to work; I was twenty-five, with four years of my career as a travel agent stuck tighter in the rut than the stick up my boss's rear. To be honest, the prospect of getting fired didn't bother me anymore. Heck, I'd even welcome the vacation.

The freezing water went to great lengths to ruin my mood again, and the pile of paperwork on my desk since the evening before returned to haunt me as I chased the soap around the inside of the tub.

Still, I had to count my blessings. For instance, it was a blessing there was actual running water in the apartment so far; and from the state of the rest of the building, it was a blessing we didn't fall through the floor on the way to the kitchen.

Funny I should put it that way.

Roughly twenty minutes since I'd hit the floor groaning, I stepped out of the shower with towel wrapped around my waist and dripped my way over to the sink. Of course, I was fully aware of how Mona would give me an earful for it when I returned, but I couldn't be bothered with my mood the way it was. Besides, it gave me dark satisfaction after her atrocious behavior this morning to see the vision of her mopping it up in my mind's eye.

That image still in mind, I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared into a more depressing one: my bloodshot eyes. Horns blared and tires screeched, the sounds shoving their way through the tiny window to entertain me with their tidings. Another day of crowded streets and sardine packed subway trains, claustrophobic office cubicle and stacks of paper no one ever looked at.

Today was not one of those days, though. Today was different. Tomorrow may be back to the grind, but today was going to end with just Mona and me, a romantic and yet affordable incandescent bulb lit dinner at that place three blocks away. Today, I could get away from the monotony, and go back to when it all used to have meaning... for at least a couple of hours. It was something.

And today, I noticed, I needed a shave.

Shaving cream lathered over my face and my razor dripping and ready for the slash, I felt the need to yawn and stretch. Why, I probably will never know. Perhaps my body somehow sensed what was going to occur next and tried to get a last yawn out before too late. It probably also saved my facial muscles the wear and tear of having to open my mouth all over again to scream later on.

See, I'm not sure how exactly it happened. But looking back on it, what I remember was one second I was standing on slippery wet tile... and the next, I wasn't. The reason why was because, simply put, there was no tile anymore. Or floor either, for that matter.

I was, purely stated, standing on air. It was the moment when I was still in mid yawn with my arms stretched and the towel straining around my midsection when the epiphany finally hit.

Today was definitely going to end different, and something else told me things were about to go downhill very fast.

Quite literally, and very fast. In fact, I wasn't standing anymore. Gravity had shown up, and now I was falling.

Hence the scream.

And then, I landed.

Hard.

If I'd spun around and done a few twirls on the way down, I didn't remember; all I was processing was pain. I was on my back, spread eagled, feeling like I had just fallen off a three story building. I blinked, and my vision slowly came into focus just in time to notice a great big pink bat fluttering above me.

My towel.

Which wasn't around my waist, where it was supposed to have been. Which also meant there was nothing around my waist anymore.