Peter Morrison was opening another box of Weetabix.
The last box was still half full, but had turned stale. He thought that there was something depressing about opening another box of something, when you hadn't finished the one before. The crisp breakfast smell arose to his nose as he tore apart the plastic bag. He peered down in to the box. Stacks of the popular cereal were towering beneath his chin. The two towers stood like grand buildings waiting to be demolished.
Peter pulled out two bars and dropped them into the breakfast bowl next to him. He splashed the slightly off-smelling skimmed milk into the bowl, picked up the spoon and started to crunch away at his uninspired meal.
He looked out of the window as he chewed. There was nothing in the garden. Normally, birds or other wildlife would take to the fresh grass and morning dew when the day began. In other homes, he was sure. It seemed that even outdoor creatures did not want to pay him a visit.
He thought about whether or not life had always been this mundane. Was merely existing, worth it anymore? Who was he getting up every day and eating his meals for?
Peter was seven bites into his bowl of cereal, when the otherwise silent kitchen suddenly roared to life. The telephone, which was slotted idly next to the doorway, and had remained mute for an immeasurable length of time, was suddenly harping its birdsong. It was ringing.
Peter gulped down his seventh mouthful of soggy Weetabix.
YOU ARE READING
Pick Up
Historia CortaIt's a smelly day on the rubbish tip for Adam Starlight. He's making his way through a tough shift with his fellow inmates. The daily trips to the rubbish pile provide both a time of despair and tranquility for Adam. He has the chance, as he wades t...
