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Beep, beep, beep.

"Oooooh, life could be a dream..."

Robert Fletcher awoke with a sigh, his breath slowly escaping his body. While the radio alarm was a nifty gadget, hearing the same song over and over, day in, day out, morning after morning made him want to clutch it in his hands and smash it against something until it stopped moving. However, Robert was not a violent man, and instead turned the radio alarm off, then lay in the bed for a few more minutes. After deciding to open his eyes again, Robert swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly standing up to the undone curtains his wife had opened, and the warm embrace of the sun. To which, he politely declined by promptly closing them again.

"Darling, your breakfast is ready!" Patricia Fletcher's small, delightful voice rose up from the first floor kitchen and into the bedroom. Robert heaved only a little sigh, as he didn't particularly want breakfast at this moment in time. But then she called him again. And again. And again. Before the 5th call, Robert quickly responded, telling her that he would be down in a moment. Robert did not want to hear his wife's voice again. Slowly and methodically, Robert made his way to the kitchen, without bothering to wear his slippers. His wife greeted him with a sunny smile, as she turned to face the now seated Robert.

"Thanks for waking up, sleepyhead! I thought you would never get out of bed." Patricia gracefully moved the eggs from the frying pan onto his plate, before placing the bacon on top. She looked excitedly into his eyes, her puppy-like ones searching for praise in his dark ones. His ignored hers completely.

"Bacon and eggs again, Patricia?" Patricia paused for a moment, wondering why her husband's favourite breakfast was being met with such apathy.

"I'm not sure what you mean, darling." Robert didn't bother to answer. He must have had quite a rough day at the office yesterday, Patricia mused, for him to be this unresponsive. I know, I'll brew him a delicious cup of hot coffee, that'll break his stupor, she assumed.

Robert continued to eat his breakfast with disdain, hating himself (and it) more and more as he shoved the rotten thing down his mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit. Patricia, however, was humming a tune she heard on an ad once, while brewing the coffee. Much to Robert's annoyance. She sang the same song everyday, after all.

"Darling, I finished making your coffee!" Stopping her joyful tune halfway through, Patricia finished off the coffee with just the right amount of hot, boiling water.

"Fine." Robert had just placed his knife and fork down, finishing the last of his breakfast. Patricia, pleased with the way the coffee smelled, quickly moved to where her husband was seated. Tried, anyway. In her eagerness, her small feet caught the table legs, and the poor little lady went soaring. So did the coffee, all over her husband. Getting up off the floor, Patricia was paralysed for a second, realising what just transpired. She wore a very stupefied expression on her face, comical really, before rushing to clean up the hot liquid that had already stained Robert's shirt.

Robert didn't react. He should of known, of course, he should have been more on guard for the flying coffee. But he forgot, and only heaved a heavy sigh in response. Patricia looked up into his beautifully dark, milky eyes, but again found nothing. Nothing at all. Then, Robert walked to the frying pan, clutched it in his hands, and bashed Patricia's dumb, doe-eyed face in until she stopped moving. And once more, for good measure. Blood was splattered over the kitchen afterwards, crimson stains now lining his shirt along with the coffee ones.

Robert, looking over the mangled corpse of his wife was hit with a powerful wave of emotion. He gave a small chuckle, then stopped. He gave a slightly louder one, then calmed down. He then started to roar in laughter, maniacally; so hard, in fact, that tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. After calming down, Robert walked to the fridge, and grabbed a long awaited, refreshing glass of beer. Avoiding the dead body, Robert moved around the kitchen and out the front, into the porch area. Pulling a chair up, cracking the cap off, Robert sat while basking in the warm glow of the morning sun.

While he would never drink before noon, it wasn't as if he had anything (or anyone) to attend to. Around 1 o'clock, Mrs Patterson arrived right on time (although without her glasses), walking her dog like every day before. Robert, finally having some free time on his hands, decided to have a nice chat with the lovely old lady. Somehow ending up on the topic of the Vietnam War, Mrs Patterson made the quite biased and opinionated claim that it was very necessary, so as to not allow America to fall under the rule of communism. Understanding and empathising with her older age, Robert tried to explain that Vietnam's communist rule wouldn't change the American government. However, she didn't have any of it. Robert nearly sighed, but instead choose to laugh off her response, wishing her a good afternoon.

A hour or two later the neighbours son, Billy, was riding home on his bike after school. As usual, Billy crashed right into Robert's fence. Robert reacted immediately, helping the poor lad up. However, Billy seemed quite scared of Robert, and quickly left, riding furiously away on his bike.

Most probably the blood. Well, nothing to be done, not as if it would matter tomorrow anyhow. Finishing off the last beer in the fridge, Robert walked inside (recoiling from the smell), and headed into the lonely bedroom. He fell unto the bed, and lost consciousness immediately.

Beep, beep, beep.

"Oooooh, life could be a dream..."

For what was most likely the millionth time, he heard the same damn song, and the bittersweet call of his wife.