I wake up in pitch blackness and have no idea where I am. Again.
I’m sweating but not sure if it’s from fear or how warm and clammy it is up here. I fumble around trying to get my bearings. I can’t even see my hands.
Then I remember. I remember everything and I’m strangely comforted even though I still don’t really understand how I came to live here, in an attic. It is clear to me this disturbs my mind because every morning it’s the same: I wake up terrified and confused, bewildered by the absence of light.
My eyes readjust to the lack of light for the umpteenth time and I see the tiny, laser-thin line of light in the distance. She’ll be up soon, and she will ask me what I would like for breakfast and I will remind her that I rarely take breakfast and she will say oh yes, I had forgotten and I will smile and tell her she always forgets. Then she will go away and bring tea and her breakfast a few minutes later and I will nibble on her toast as I always do and she will tell me off and say she could have made me breakfast if I had said and I will tell her I’m not hungry and she will say then why are you eating my breakfast and I will shrug and say I don’t know, maybe it’s for something to do. Then she will scowl and punch me on the arm a little harder than merely playfully, showing me that she doesn’t want to fight about it but it really pisses her off when I do that.
All this will happen soon. Unless I’ve woken up very early and we actually have many hours to go yet until she wakes up. It’s okay if that’s the case. It gives me time to think about the days and weeks which have passed.
To continue reading this story please buy the book ‘The Old Man on the Beach and other stories’ available January 2015.
Copyright © 2014 D K Powell