Short Story 1

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[ title undecided ]

  Brring Brring

 A sound of the alarm broke through the heavy air of the dark apartment. By the time of the fifth ring, Clarke McMurphy was stirring in his bed. Eyes still half closed, he fumbled around to find his phone, deleted the alarm, and sat up. It was already bright outside: gray clouds hung over the city, but the air was dim gray. He could hear the faint sound of cars heading to work.

 Clarke headed to the kitchen, dragging his slippers on the way. The apartment had one bedroom and a kitchen, not well furnished but enough for a 34 year old man living at the edge of New York City. Clarke has always had a light menu for breakfast. A banana and an cup of coffee would suffice. As Clarke sipped his on his Starbucks mug cup, he opened his laptop to check the email.

 Then he saw it. His fingers, crawling over the metal rectangle, felt aloof. Clarke flexed his hand. The five long sticks on each side seemed to come into clear view, refined as if closed in from scene from a 3D movie. At that moment, Clarke sensed an inexplicable pang of disgust.



Favorite quote of the day:

Character is crystallized habit, the result of training and conviction
- Ernest Hemingway

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