Originally written under my other pen name in 2016 - from my blog: athouse9.blogspot.com
Image: own
The alarm woke me from dreamless sleep, and I slid my finger over the "cancel" mark and found my way from under black duvets and a half-asleep dog.
Wednesday.
I knew it was instinctively, because of that neither here-nor-there feeling it always had to it.
The floor all along the passage to the kitchen still cold from the night until I reach the light that flooded the kitchen.
On the kitchen floor a razor blade and a box. Neatly placed, parallel from eachother.
I put the blade in the box, and the box I pushed into one of the bottom kitchen drawers, before putting the kettle on.
The dishes were all done and had been stacked neatly on the drying rack next to the sink.
Little paws tick-ticking down the passageway, I went to open up the door to let the dogs out.
Outside on the lapa, the dog bowls were filled with clean water and food, having been refilled the night before obviously.
The dogs scurried out to do their morning patrols, one after the other and the kitten slowly emerged onto the lapa and meowing for her breakfast, lulling me out of my daydream.
I started running the straightener over my hair as the first message of the day came through.
"I'm hoping you're getting ready for work."
The phone's screen felt new and cold as I typed back. "Yes."
"After last night, I should just be thankful you're even replying."
I stared at the message, for what seemed like minutes. I looked around my bedroom, with it's heavy white linen curtains, black bedding, wooden furniture and the only sounds were the dogs barking out side and array of birds calling to one another.
"It's nerve wracking to know you're out there, up on that hill all alone. We never know what's going on."
I responded, without having to think too much about it, "Yea."
The drive down the 2.4 kilometres to the work's gate, and climbing out the car in the parking lot.
The smile came easily... it was supposed to be there.
I said my generic "good morning" to each person I passed to the clocking machine.
The smell of maize, bran, molasses...all over. Familiar.
The beep as the machine reads the fingerprint and the expectation of the taste of coffee already tingling.
Wednesday.