That day, they set no alarms. They let their body do the wake-up call. Let the sun creak through the gaps in the curtains. Sting both irises like lasers. Breakfast. Pre-packaged croissants. Stale. A coffee, single shot, decaf, filled to the brim.
On the news; famines; wars; liars; murderers; charred forests. Meanwhile, a fly waded its legs through the brew’s surface, drowning, drawing its final breaths, ripples pushing hard against the cup’s innards, like a silent storm, rage without thunder, dying to be saved, steam on her chin, tears tickled, laughter cried.
Sam is writing his first crime novel as a student of the Faber Academy’s ‘Writing a Novel’ course. He can be found on Twitter as @samofme.