Supine 'til Aurora • Dan Howell

• Chapter 2 •

• "And all was golden in the sky; when the day met the night." •

Waking up to my alarm's hollow violin music on a Tuesday morning was always a struggle. I flailed myself toward my bedside table, smacking my hand into the phone, bringing the soft music to a jarring halt. I sighed, sitting up, rubbing my eyes and blinking around the sepia looking room, drowned in cold sunlight, a pattering of rain paddling at my bedroom window pane.

Curtain slightly open, I leant forward and watched the rows and rows of umbrellas travelling along the road below me. I was definitely going to get wet on the way to work today, and I was dreading it. I swung my legs off the bed, grogginess pounding in my skull, irritatingly. I needed a warm shower to wash the sleep deprivation off of me.

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As I tore myself away from the beautiful hot stream of water, I decided to check twitter as I made some tea.

I drank as I scrolled, and once my tea was finished, I padded into my cozy, little bedroom to get dressed. I yanked my drawers open, scanning over the various possible outfits for the day. I pouted and picked up a pair of dark jeans and a red jumper, sliding my coat on over my shoulders. I was going to need to pick up some breakfast on the way to work. There was a small bakery down the road on the way to the tramline that I could pop into before I got on the tram.

Despite the rain, I left the house soon after getting dressed, pulling a scarf around my bare neck, stepping into the catapulting rain and shoving my hood up over my head.
Just outside my apartment door, I fiddled around in my pocket, checking for my tram ticket and breathing a sigh of relief at it's presence.

First stop: Breakfast.

It took less than 5 minutes to walk down the the bakery, and I was already drenched from the short walk as I entered the maroon shop, bell dinging slightly as walked in. There was a small queue, which gave me some time to look over the array of breads and pastries in the display.

Deciding on a croissant, I wrapped it up in some napkins folded in a silver box by the counter, and slipped it in my bag to eat once I got to work. Heading back outside, I felt the cold wind whip at my exposed cheeks, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine. I couldn't wait to get to work.

My feet sloshed in the ever deepening puddles as I clacked along the drenched asphalt up to the tram station; standing under the little shelter there was. I frowned. Why is no one else here?

I hummed, walking over to the board covered in paper and fliers batting rampant in the wind, my eyes darting over the many tabs of information before picking out my problem, to which my hand slammed down onto the flier, partly to keep it still, but also partly out of pure aggravation: 'Tramline will be closed due to an incident on the line.'

Crap. Guess I'm gonna get even more wet then.

Angrily, I stormed down the road, heading towards the bridge lined with poor market stall owners who got here at the crack of dawn.
Eventually, I slowed my pace, accepting the fact that I was going to get drenched to the bone - my fingers already raw from the cold. Shoving my hands down into my deep pockets I set my mind on the contents of the stall tables rather than the torrential downpour.
There were hundreds of stalls set up across the vast bridge, the array of contents spread from blankets woven with beautiful wool, kept mostly dry under the stall's roof, to strange foreign food and drinks. There were surprisingly a lot of shoppers despite the rain.
Passing a table of hundreds of strange fruits and vegetables, I slowed my pace even more, intrigued by the colour of the items, a stark contrast to the dreariness of the grey weather.