Good Morning, Miss Australia [Rumbelle]

Spinning Rotation

                  The bedroom was shrouded in darkness this early morning in September. Only the hands of the alarm clock slowly moving toward 5 a.m. were an indication that the man in the antique bed would soon be pulled from his slumber, though not by the unrelenting alarm clock itself. There was a slight chill in the air that made the man breathe a bit heavily. His tousled, half-long hair lay sprawled on his pillow and his brows were furrowed a bit, not finding enough rest to relax completely, even when in sleep.

Cold air made the heavy curtains sway, and Mr. Gold burrowed a little further under the covers when an old-fashioned cell phone that sat on the nightstand started to vibrate. A split second later a shrill ringtone ripped through the peaceful silence.

The eyes of the sleeping man flew open and with a suppressed gasp he jolted to life. Automatically, his hand grabbed the phone and before he'd even regained full consciousness he'd already flipped it open with movements that betrayed routine.

Not bothering to look at the screen, as he knew that it would say nothing more than 'Private number', and without clearing his throat he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

A rough voice bellowed in his ear.

"WAAAKEEEE UUUUUPPPP! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Gold let himself sink back against his pillow; eyes closing as he distastefully increased the distance between the phone and his ear. A now familiar sting of disappointment stabbed his heart, while the bellowing man on the other side of the line tirelessly repeated himself. He sighed inaudibly.

Like every morning since the silvery voice of Miss Australia had whispered into his ear, he wondered how long before that bloody rotation would come around and she would greet him again, the only reason for him to keep going with this madness.

In the past few weeks he'd been woken up by many different people, men and women alike. He'd been sung to, both in Chinese and English, shouted at, attempted conversation with about trains, and all variations in between. One man had spontaneously begun reciting (or rather badly butchering) Robert Burns at him when he'd heard Gold's accent. He still shuddered at the memory. And now there was this...drill-sergeant from the Midwest to add to the collection.

He lowered the phone until it rested against his shoulder. No matter who had called to pull him from his slumber over the past couple of weeks, it was never the one he was waiting for. Every night since her sweet voice had sounded through the small speaker, he had fallen asleep with his eyes fixed on the device as if willing it to be her who would be calling him the following morning. And every morning, the restlessness he refused to call hope plummeted to the basement when it again wasn't her.

Miss Australia.

It had slipped from his lips before he'd known it, the silly endearment, which in hindsight had been a rather blatant way of inquiring after her marital state. Though it wasn't until he'd gone to his shop and turned the closed sign to open that he realized that she hadn't corrected his playful assumption.

Three weeks had gone by, and the memory of her voice still lingered in the back of his mind, a cheerful echo that dispelled the dusty silence of his shop. It didn't matter if he polished silver, repaired a clock, valued a new acquisition or simply stood behind the counter for a moment. The entire collection of trinkets and artifacts reminded him of their conversation, made him wonder if she'd notice the intangible, magical atmosphere if he would bring her here... Most of the time this was the moment where he'd cut himself off, not allowing for his fantasy to imagine anything more beyond another conversation with the Australian. The situation was already ridiculous enough as it was.