PART 3
6:00am. The alarm clock rang out. Conigan Garaghty's hand shot out from the bed to silence it. Opening one eye, he glanced at the time, scoffed and rolled out of bed.
The shower knob was grimy. Ren always forgot to clean the shower. If he asked his wife to clean it she'd make sure he paid for it. He decided it best to just keep his mouth shut and do it himself when he had a chance later that night. She had her hands full with the kids anyway.
Regretfully, he turned the filthy knob. The pipes groaned in protest, and he removed his designated bed time t-shirt. The nozzle coughed out dribbles of brownish-red water and finally gave up on itself all together.
"Argh, come on!" he growled. He was going to be late for work, and with a new burst of energy he flew down the stairs and out the front door. The dew on the lawn was cold on his bare feet, making him skip as he rushed to the giant water tank at the side of the house. He bent down to read the guage which indicated that the tank was, to his irritation, empty. The green light was on - time for a refill, again. He loathed that green light.
He slammed his fist against the tank and rested his hands on the back of his head. As he took a moment to remind himself that though refilling the tank was an expensive pain in the ass to say the least, it was not the end of the world.
Across the street, a neighbour waved as she got into her car for work. Politely, he nodded back. To his left, Mr. Timbers opened his garage door. He quickly stole a glance of Conigan, and immediately turned away to get into his car. Conigan didn't bother to say hello, Mr. Timbers would not have been impressed. He was offended by Conigan and his family living next door. A friendly good morning would have ruined the man's day. Conigan smirked at his momentary regret at not having done so as Mr. Timbers drove away.
His eye caught the damn green light again, and Conigan gave the tank one final blow.
Inside, Kirby Garaghty was in the middle of saturating his small scrap of bagel in drool, soggy bread pieces caking around his round cheeks and pudgy fingers. He stared at the bouncing images on the television, absorbed in the colour and movement without comprehending the meaning.
"Ser!" called his mother as she poured milk into a bowl of cereal, "Seralin! Breakfast!" She snatched the piece of bagel from Kirby, thrusting a sippy cup of milk into his messy hands.
Conigan ran in the door, nearly running over the baby. Hopping on one foot to avoid killing his son, Conigan ran up the stairs as his four year old daughter scurried by and climbed up to her bowl of cereal at the table.
"There's no water!" his wife. Ren shouted after him.
"Yeah, thanks for that!" snapped Conigan from upstairs.
Ren sighed and reminded herself that he was not a morning person. Her eyes drifted towards the television, catching a piece of the morning news. Images of the Fowler-Kerry water facility flashed across the screen. A small section was smoking, crews of men clearing rubble, police officers held reporters at bay.
"Miss Fowler-Kerry has a well established reputation for disliking cloned persons," the broadcaster droned as Ren turned the volume up, "and the assaults on her enterprise have only solidified her opinions, and not surprisingly, the opinions of others in the community. "
