In the clarity of the morning light I began to make sense of the images in my mind: events from the previous evening that had been flashing before my mind’s eye during fitful sleep.
A shadowy figure at the window.
Rushing to get my keys in the door.
Raised voices, a shrill cry.
Running on the stairs.
The plunging, cutting, tearing of a knife.
A thick red mess on the floor.
Frantic digging.
Frantic cleaning.
The memories made me nervous, worried of what I might have done. My memory takes time to reboot each morning, to extract itself from the fug of sleep and start to join the dots. But the light quickly awakening me was soon joined by singing from the shower and remembrance became easier.
I saw the silhouette from the gate, fumbled with the keys in the lock, shouted as I came through. A shrill cry of welcome was returned and Mike bounded down the stairs flashing the spare keys.
He knew I’d been having a hard time since demob, had sensed something in my voice, had brought cake, prosecco and a plant to cheer me up.
As we drunk more, our division of the cake got worse, leading to the contents of several doughnuts meeting the floor. We even tried to plant the plant, quickly as it was freezing, creating more mess, so much we felt we should clean before finally collapsing into bed.
Nothing to report, then. I wish my mind would be less dramatic.
Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture and quote prompt. Well done to the winners!
Note: I actually entered the story with the title Stand To but decided to change it before blogging (Morning Report was also considered).
A shadowy figure at the window.
Rushing to get my keys in the door.
Raised voices, a shrill cry.
Running on the stairs.
The plunging, cutting, tearing of a knife.
A thick red mess on the floor.
Frantic digging.
Frantic cleaning.
The memories made me nervous, worried of what I might have done. My memory takes time to reboot each morning, to extract itself from the fug of sleep and start to join the dots. But the light quickly awakening me was soon joined by singing from the shower and remembrance became easier.
I saw the silhouette from the gate, fumbled with the keys in the lock, shouted as I came through. A shrill cry of welcome was returned and Mike bounded down the stairs flashing the spare keys.
He knew I’d been having a hard time since demob, had sensed something in my voice, had brought cake, prosecco and a plant to cheer me up.
As we drunk more, our division of the cake got worse, leading to the contents of several doughnuts meeting the floor. We even tried to plant the plant, quickly as it was freezing, creating more mess, so much we felt we should clean before finally collapsing into bed.
Nothing to report, then. I wish my mind would be less dramatic.
Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture and quote prompt. Well done to the winners!
Note: I actually entered the story with the title Stand To but decided to change it before blogging (Morning Report was also considered).
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