Waking up this morning was like something I've never experienced.
It didn't feel like a usual sense of consciousness, when your body fills up with warmth and you hear the sounds of early morning in your ears, the shuffling of feet on the floorboards and the clink of silverware being spread out on the table, the sweet scent of pancakes and syrup wafting to your waiting nose.
This morning was nothing like that.
I woke up, or at least I think I did. I swung my heavy legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the absence seeping from the other side of the queen size mattress. The apartment was empty today, besides Silver, the hairless cat I had adopted a few years ago from a shelter. The soft jingle of the bell tied around his neck with crimson satin pulled me from my thoughts and towards my wardrobe.
Pushing articles of clothing back and forth, I scanned the shirts and pants for something more suitable; Something better than what I've been wearing the past few days. (a white t shirt and black sweats. That outfit had been on my body for the past 4 days and hasn't left me, through all the tears and restless nights) I peeled the sweaty clothes from my body and slipped on a black button-up and black slacks that hung loosely on my frame. I passed the mirror I had accidentally shattered last night, ignored my appearance and brushed my teeth.
I shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen and proceeded to act out my daily routine: get a mug from the cupboard and start making coffee. I knew coffee was bad for me - the constant shaking hands being one of many unpleasant symptoms - but I continued to drink the bitter liquid each morning. As the coffee maker warmed up, I watched the concoction of crushed coffee beans blend into the water, hypnotized by the monotonous motion.
Soon enough the coffee was done, and I pulled the steaming cup to my face for a sip. The hot drink left a harsh burn on my tongue and singed my throat, but I honestly didn't care. The pain reminded me that I was still alive, and my life was not just a bad nightmare; this was my reality.
A loud honk of a Camry startled me, causing the mug to slide from my fingers, tumbling to the floor and exploding in shards of acrylic across the hardwood. I ignored the mess and stepped out of the door towards the waiting car. I sat down cautiously, avoiding the concerned look my mother was giving me. She opened up her thin pink lips to say something, but her voice is drowned out by my busy mind. I should've cleaned up the mess I'd made this morning before I left. When I get back home, I'll sweep up the broken shards of glass from the mirror and return the overturned table to it's original spot. I will wash the leaning tower of dishes piled in my sink. Cleaning could keep my mind off of things, at least for a little while.
"...and I hope you will be happy again." she finishes in what I am assuming was her long speech to me. I look back at her and nod, my lips pursed in a straight line across my face.
We soon show up at the gates of a cemetery, following a line of vehicles down the winding paths along the dead. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people were buried here. This was a rather large and old cemetery, dating back as far as the 1700's. I scanned the headstones, reading the names of the ones that have passed. I read of the mothers and fathers who left their children a little too early, I memorized the names of soldiers whose saviors came a little too late. I imagined their deaths and funerals. I imagined how peaceful their minds were at those moments, when their hearts stopped and organs shut down. The dead were at peace, and the living? Well, they still drudge day after wretched day, performing a series of actions before deaths cold hands meet theirs and sings their tired eyes to sleep.
The dates soon became more recent, dating up to just a few months ago. The car abruptly stopped after parking in an open patch of grass. I swung the door open and stepped out, dragging myself alongside my mother. She linked her arm in mine as we approached the crowd adorned in shades of black like a murder of crows. I shifted my eyes towards the ground in an attempt to ignore the eyes burning into my scalp, the looks of pity seeping through every pore in their body towards me.
