First thing on Monday morning.
A noise pierced the dream. Shattering the single focus. Causing his body to break out of beautiful sleep. He was not yet awake but his subconscious was reacting to the first few milliseconds of his alarm.
A tensing of his sleeping gut and a spasm ripped across his back as his ears fought to locate the sound. The the left, his left ear shouted. His right ear vaguely responding to the sound attempted to muffle it by refusing to fully engage his ear drum. Unfortunately his left ear was not a partaker of this hide the alarm game and had sent his eardrum into reverberating shimmer of silent acknowledgement. His brain had heard. It now knew it had to kick into gear and disturb and destroy the world it was building to the monosyllabic pulse of the alarm. In brain time it was a slow introduction of noise jolted his conscious awareness. His consciousness screamed “Get that sound, silence it!”
His left paw grovelled around the crumpled sheets with a single minded fury, kill the noise. Once his fingertips felt the cool lifeless, noisy plastic they wrapped themselves around it. Now the challenge began as the cellphone was hoisted from its hiding place in his sheets. His challenge had 2 options, swipe to the left to silence the noise for 24 hours or swipe to the right to silence it for 10 minutes. In the slit seconds between the pulsating noise his fingers could inadvertently give him the illusion of peace, for only 10minutes. He had to find the will between the spells of vulgar wordage and curses upon digital circuitry to pry open his eyes.
Sweet, innocent pupils shielded from the world were wide open hugging the edges of his brown irises. The two pupils began to sweep the darkness involuntarily towards the cacophony that shook his consciousness awake. He had the cause of the sound in his hand but he had to look at it and see where to swipe. The faint embers of artificial light tugged at his eyes, sexy, inviting but dangerous, he knew this somewhere in a part of his brain that decided to ignore the call to action. WHAM. A thousand pixels. A pocket sized computer, Skynet, lit up his unprotected pupils with hundreds of colours all chiming together wake up! The naughty bad of his brain that insisted on snoozing was hastily woken up by every nerve in his body as his retina singed under the assault of the pixel war. This was no different to yesterday or the day before, retina burnt and frustrated blinking accompanied even greater intensity of vulgarity. Even as his eyelids crashed together to hold out the barrage of light he knew it was all in vain. The phone was touch screen, he had see what he was doing. He opened them again to hunt down the virtual button to silence the incessant noise, alarms should automatically switch off when your heart rate hit 200 his brain calmly thought of a new feature.Damn it. The courage was now his and he sacrificed his one good eye to keep a bead on the the silence button. His fingers though were frantic reaching round the phone and triumphantly swept left across the screen. As he smirked in the dark he thought he could hear angels singing whilst the duvet lovingly embraced him and the pillow tenderly caught his falling head.
What had been retained in his head in the form of vulgar speech now started to seep out of his mouth. This time of day was according to folklore the hour when witches went about their business. In the era of the alarm, it was a new type of curse that was cast, he was no different, the master wizard of his bedroom. When it was darkest men and women swore at their weaknesses and cast vulgarities across their motivations and loving aspersions towards their beds. He was no different it started like a distant rumbling of an onrushing train, barely audible. He swore, cussed and let the fabric of spacetime and morality feel the weight of his vocabulary.
At this point, as with the final seconds in life, everything sharpens into focus and is weighed accordingly. Do I, should I, why and when have to stand strong and account for themselves. Asleep broken for the next 18 hours is no laughing matter, he thought, when I die can I be dead forever. No archaeologists hammer should announce its arrival with sharp pings on his mandible nor angels on horseback blowing trumpets raise him from his final slumber. That one, he would be selfish with because he would have no motivation to crack its bliss.
After a few seconds of existential monologue interspersed with a spicy sprinkling of cuss, he swung his feet off the bed. No sandals! The sensation shot up his heels and lit his achilles as the chilly tiles bit into his soles. Rumph. Too late for flip flops the cold had done its job and woke his toes. His sole focus had changed to his bladder and its unbelievable weight. He needed to empty it. That presented a challenge that every man since the invention of the indoor toilet has faced, unwilling flesh. As he stumbled to the toilet he thought his forefathers would have greeted the morning with proud golden rainbows glistening in the starlight. Grumbling away he began his morning contort.