14th November

When you're asleep, any kind of sound is like oncoming traffic. Its afar off, then it gets closer as your brain slowly starts to wake, all the tiny connections running up and down throughout the senses, rapidly distinguishing the sounds as they finally blast in your ear only to realize it's not really that loud at all.

The distant church bell clanged on, every now and then there would be a flutter of wings as the birds grew restless with each toll. I imagined the whole world as a pancake; buildings, people, dogs, money, and it resulted in a sudden craving for an immensely monstrous breakfast. I felt an unnerving urge to dance to something as I got up to make coffee, which is a daily plague, but there never is much of a chance to entertain it. Except on Sundays. I start a holy day with a small sin and confess about how stressful my job can get at times when the contracts don't come in. And to a fat priest that dozes off every 3 mins during a confession. Slimy bastard.

I told my notebook to cease its sleeper mode, it retorted with a start and apologized with its sweet smooth voice. We talked about the news and discussed the issue of a probable hurricane landing sometime in the night. Hurricanes are fun, in their own way, its peaceful to hear nature roar at you with most of its might. If it ever did wham you with all of it, it would be rather boring.

As I glanced through my contacts, something caught my eye. Thing is, these things do every now and then, it tickles me senseless and leaves me scrambling round the apartment in nothing but briefs gasping for precious oxygen. I grabbed the mug of blissful coffee as I read the updates. A smile crept from somewhere on my face and spread like wildfire. Soon enough I looked like a madmen on the loose and as the page on the monitor turned, I exploded.

Coffee spurted everywhere as I laughed my inner child into another dimension, sending my body into small convulsions. I miraculously stopped for a second, but the page again caught my eye and I was off again in another fit of laughter. No, it wasn't anything funny. Just the situation and the confidence of being in that one. People are silly, most if not all; excluding me, even more so.

Sundays were mostly the same, but they were always different in rhythm and depth. I made my way down to the chapel after cleaning up everything leaving Lucy alone and complaining. She didn't mind me, after all she wasn't real.

I parked the car and we looked up at the church. She didn't want to go in and I said it was fine, me neither. But someone had to do it, and she didn't have the means. Nor was she as quiet as me. Grunting as I turned the ignition off, I grabbed my black bag and wore my Sunday smile, smirking within as Margaret Rennard, the lady who made little Sunday cupcakes, gave me an approving nod.