The Routine

He woke up that morning to the sound of the pattering of the rain at his window, the sound of his clock ticking and the sound of the ceiling fan spinning at medium speed above him. It was the familiar sound of December, greeting him a ‘Good and Wet Morning’.

The school holidays was fast ending and he knew that time as precious as it was, he wasn’t going to budge. His body was aching from the many years he had been working, ageing faster than most of his peers because he had began working much earlier to be independent. 

‘Tick tock, tick tock’, the sound of his clock ticked as he remained in bed, twisting and turning, hoping that the next few ticks of the clock would ring an alarm that would jolt him out of bed or perhaps, end the world.

He had been thinking a lot about how the world would look like when it ends. He had been reading and he had constantly been told since young of the circumstances and events that would eventually lead to the end of the world. He wasn’t prepared for what would come after-life but he wanted to be there when the world ends.

He eventually sits at the edge of his bed with his head drowned in both of his hands as he rubs his hands on his face in an upward and downward motion. He hopes that by doing this, a genie would appear or he would discover that he was actually already dead. Dead he was not, his heart was still beating.

He finally gets out of his bed and bends forward to stretch his aching back. Straightens it and twists from left to right, cracking his lower back. Slowly, he walks to his door and steps out of his room for the first time after spending 12 hours in it.

The room was his lair where he would spend hours on end to sleep, read, work and unwind. It was also his prison. His prison dictating where he was and where he had been in his life. He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t like a life confined by walls. He had been in a prison cell before and it felt exactly like that.

Prison would have been much better. He needn’t have to work to be served food. He needn’t have to worry about seeing a doctor. His most basic needs were met when he was in prison. Life on his own, wasn’t freedom, it was a bigger prison with higher walls with thick invisible chains latched around your heart and head.

He was greeted by a cold tile as soon as he steps out of his room and the smell of wet leaves. The cold, ran up his feet to his ankles and knees and somehow warms up around his thighs. He takes another step and he hears the sound of water being run over by vehicles on the road nearby and the sound of a large truck reversing. 

He walks into the kitchen and pours himself a drink. As he takes his first sip of water of the day, he feels the water enveloping his tongue like a soft brush painting on canvas and the feeling of the water flowing down his throat, swirling around his throat as it makes its way down his gut into his stomach. 

And the moment the water reaches his stomach, he feels a slight wave in his tummy like the water hitting the shoreline at low tide. Like the waves depositing sea debris onto the shores, the water in his tummy pushes up a bubble of air out of his gut through his mouth letting out a burp like sound of air, ‘Eeerrgghhh’.

“Ahhh..” he goes acknowledging that he has completed warming up all his sensory movements.

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