I know something is wrong from the moment I wake up. I rub my eyes in an attempt to get rid of the heavy feeling in them as I sit up. I yaw, stretch, and crack my neck like I do every morning, but it isn’t morning. There was no more light in the room than there was last night. I glance out the window, and see that the sun has yet to rise. Odd I think I never wake before sunrise. I glance over at the window only to see that the alarm clock reads in big red letters 3:17.
I groan and fall back with a soft thud on the bed, only to wake Emily Dickenson from her slumber. She looks at me and I look at her, and eye contact between us is held for around ten seconds before she looks away, and lays her head down once more, as if in disapproval.
I let out a breathy sigh. I know that I’ll never be able to fall back asleep now, and it’s useless trying. So, I get out of my bed, slip on a plain white tee-shirt, and exit the room. The hallway is dark as I fumble around looking for the light switch. I absolutely loathe being in the dark alone for long periods of time. I always have, and I always will.
I’m not quite used to the layout of my new surroundings it takes a little searching to find it. Eventually, I find it and I flip the switch. The lights flash on, temporarily blinding me because my eyes haven’t adjusted to the light yet. Stunned by the light, I stumble and trip over my feet and land flat on my bum with a loud thud. “Ouch!” I cry out from the painful land. I blink a few times as my eyes begin to adjust and I’m once again able to see. I had landed not three feet away from the stairs. If I had fallen or walked a little farther, I would have fallen right down the stairs, and the injuries from that would be far worse than falling on my bum.
I slowly get up from my place at the landing, wincing slightly from the pain, and I rub my lower back. I cross over to the bathroom, and head towards the mirror. I turn where I stand, causing my back to face the mirror. I gaze over my shoulder, and look into the mirror and raise the back of my shirt revealing my lower back. Already there is a large pale blue bruise starting to take shape.
“Oh fuck me!” I almost yell.
I release the shirt and let it fall over my lower back, and exit the bathroom turning the light off as I walk out into the hallway. Now irritated by the bruise, I walk to the foot of the stairs, and quickly descend them to the foyer/great room. I round the corner at the foot of the stairs, and strut into the kitchen. The light was off, only this time, I'm much more careful than when I was upstairs.
I cling to the wall as I slide my hand carefully over the wall looking for the light, but I can't find it. I know you're in here somewhere I think to myself, but it's no use. After around three minutes of groping the wall, and succeeding to no avail in finding the light switch. I accept my defeat and sigh.
"I hate the dark," I whisper in fear and annoyance.
I slowly step into the kitchen with my arms outstretched in front of me, praying that I don't run into anything, and of course the first thing I feel is my kneecap slam into a chair. I cry out in pain, and clutch my knee causing me to lose my balance and trip and fall, however it wasn't a normal fall. It felt as though I had tripped over something.
Quickly I pull myself together, and try to get my bearings. My eyes had become adjusted to the dark, and now I can faintly see the outline of objects in the pale blue moonlight that is streaming in through the window above the sink.
I immediately try to start looking for what I had tripped over. It felt as thought it was something hard and smooth, but had a soft exterior, almost like an apple or something else with skin. I look, but I don't see anything. There is nothing in the room at all that I could have possibly tripped over.
"I must have tripped over my own two feet." I say to reassure myself, but I don't sound positive.
I stand up and squint into the shadows, scanning for the oven. When at last I find it, my eyes dart to the little green numbers on the controls. It reads clearly 3:17, the same time in the bedroom as when I last checked it.
What? I think How the hell is it still that time? It must have stopped.. or.. or something. But still... the fact remained that I had tripped over something, twice, and the only even remotely plausible explanation was that it was my own too feet. I know that I'm clumsy, but not that clumsy. I don't exactly know what to make of it all. It's just odd, not scary, just odd. There's something just a little unsettling about it. I make my way back to the kitchen door, exit and enter the great room once more. I scan the sofa for my phone. When I find it, I immediately unlock it, only to be greeted by the clock reading in massive white letters 3:17.
Immediately with my phone still in my hand, I run to the clock at the top of the stairs, nearly falling down them and killing myself in the process. I see the end table where it's located, and the hands had stopped right there reading 3:17.
"What the fuck is going on here?" I whisper now terrified. Suddenly I feel a mass of fuzz on my feet, and I jump up and yelp, only to have my actions returned by the hiss of my cat.
"Don't scare me like that!" I whisper-yell at her.
She again tilts her head to one side as she did earlier, and the only thing that she does is stare at me, and releases a small meow from her tiny cat body. What am I doing? I ask myself. I'm talking to my cat. I need to unwind. I'm going mad.
I again look down at the calico cat. She meets my gaze as in the same disapproving manner we were laying in bed together. "Meow," she says.
Says I think Humph, now I know I'm losing it. Cats can't talk.
I look away from her, and start descending the stairs once more. All of the clocks must be a coincidence. I think. Besides, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything that's been going on here. I woke up so early, because I went to bed earlier than normal, and I went to bed earlier than normal, because I'm still exhausted from the move. I simply tripped over my own feet at the top of the stairs, and in the kitchen. It's as simple as that, and I'm psyching myself out because of all the stress of moving, I tell myself as I enter the kitchen. This time, I use the flashlight on my phone to find the light switch. Though I'm not entirely sure of everything that has happened, I decide that this explanation is the one that seems most comforting, and the easiest to swallow.
Immediately I go to the cupboard above the stove, and pull down a can of pre-ground regular coffee, a measuring spoon, and filters. I remove the plastic lid on the can to be greeted by the divinely bitter scent of coffee grinds. I set about making the task of my morning coffee at... well whatever the actual time is. I fill the pot with water, pour it into the back of the maker, and place a filter into the machine with two tablespoons of the coffee grinds in it. When everything is in place, I press the little blue button that reads 'Brew' and then listen to the cooing of the machine as it starts making my coffee.
I reache once again to the many cabinets and grab the largest mug I could find; one that read: COFFEE Keeps Me Going Until It's Acceptable To Drink WINE. I chuckle to myself at the joke on the pristine white mug in glossy black lettering. Soon I'm able to hear the coffee trickling into the pot from the top of the machine, and the smell of fresh coffee fills my nostrils. I close my eyes and smile at the familiar scent. I walk over to the refrigerator, reach in, and pull out all of the fixings I need to make the bitter drink sweet and delicious.
Soon the coffee is done brewing, and I fill the mug to around halfway full. I then reach for the hazelnut creamer, pour a hefty amount into the mug with the coffee, then grab a can of whipped cream, and squirt a hefty glob of the delicious paste onto the liquid. I then grab a bottle of chocolate syrup, and drizzle a decent amount on top of the whipped cream. When my creation is done, I raise the mug to my lips, and tilt it back and let the creamy liquid pass through my lips and fill my mouth with a heavenly taste, before sliding elegantly and silently down my throat.
I close my eyes at the taste, which is pure ecstasy. I want to savor this moment I think to myself. I quickly dart upstairs, but taking care so that I don't trip again. I walk down the hall, and enter my bedroom. I cross over to the nightstand, and pick up my copy of Jane Eyre, and return once more to the kitchen downstairs. I place the book on the kitchen table, and walk over to my iHome. I plug my phone into it, and immediately go to my play lists. Driving, Sleeping, Partying... I think to myself, reading the names of my play lists. At last, I find the one called 'Reading' and click on it. Instantly, my ears are filled with the soft sounds of one of Chopin's Nocturnes.
I once more cross over to the table, and take a seat. I presently open the book to page 304 and start reading and sipping my coffee. The sound and smell of coffee and music mingle in the air, stimulating my senses as I read Charlotte Brontë's classic. I find a primal pleasure in the finer, yet simpler things in life. I don't need much to entertain myself. All I really need is a good book or my piano, and I'll be set for hours, which is why I rarely watch television.
As I read more and more of the classic I become less aware of my surroundings, becoming engrossed in the plot. Time goes by, and I chip a little more at the novel. Soon, I've read one page, then two pages, then five, then ten, and so on. Whilst I read, Emily Dickenson struts over to me slowly, leaps up into my lap, and I stroke her head with my hand while still reading.
The book, my coffee, the music, and my cat were all I am focused on. The words, the taste, the notes, and the soft fur. It is as if I am in a trance. All of my attention is so focused on everything, that soon I'm not even reading, or hearing the music. I'm looking at the book, and the music is clearly playing, but the words hold no meaning, and my eyes just glided past them. Moreover, I don't feel the meaning of the music.
In this dreamlike state, I can feel myself fading slower and slower away from thinking about anything, and my eyes soon feel heavy, and sunken in. I'm struggling to stay awake, and I can feel sleep weighing heavy on my shoulders. I know that I won't be able to stay awake for much longer, but I fight the urge to close the book and go upstairs. If I go to bed now, I won't wake up until at least two in the afternoon. I keep trying to wake myself up, and eventually I close my eyes and lay my head down on the book... but it doesn't last.
Almost as quickly as I had laid my head down, a clamorous thud sounded throughout the room, and I shot upright in my chair, jostling Emily Dickenson. She raises her head, looks at me, and once again says "Meow."
"Shh..." I say in an attempt to hush her. I listen intently, but I don't hear anything as my music is still playing. I rise from my seat and Emily Dickenson jumps off of my lap. I cross over to my iHome, and unplug my music in an attempt to make the room as silent as possible. Once again, I keenly listen to hear if there's another thud, but after about a minute, there's nothing.
It was probably just the wind I tell myself. Or maybe one of the boxes had fallen in the spare room upstairs. Maybe I was even hearing things. I hope that's what it is. I had just calmed myself down from my falling not even an hour before. Deciding it's nothing, I grab my book and exit the kitchen once more, and go out into the great room. I find the place on the shelf where the book belongs, and place it back in it's home.
I turn once more, and start heading towards the entrance to the kitchen, but stop dead in my tracks as I hear yet another massive thud. I sit there and wait not moving a muscle. This time, I'm positive that there definitely was definitely some sort noise. I walk slowly back into the kitchen, and check to see that it's empty before entering. When I see that no one is in there except for Emily Dickenson, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I look down at the cat and she gives me that all-too-familiar look she always does. "I must be going crazy," I jokingly say to her. With that, I set about putting the kitchen back to the way it was when I first came down here after waking up. I put the coffee grinds and filters back in the cupboard, and replaced the creamer, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup in the refrigerator once more.
Finally, I walk over to the table to where my mug is sitting, pick it up, and finish off the last off the divine beverage. I read the message on the mug once more and chuckle. I walk over to the sink, and begin to wash the mug. Finally when the residue is gone, and I have whipped it clean, I turn around where I stand, only to hear an ear splitting shatter. I had dropped the mug, because when I turned around my hazel eyes met the darkest emerald eyes I've ever seen.
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So what do you think? :) I've never really written anything like this before, and I'm super excited to hear what people think. I'm sorry it's super long, and nothing really happens until the very end, but I think it's good haha! Anyway, please vote and comment and share this with your friends!!!