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Tuesday, March 2, 2021

Work of the Mind -Flash Fiction pt. 1/2

    The sun is warming my face, as my eyes flutter open. My eyelashes lift off of my cheeks and lay back down on them slowly. The sun is bright and warm as it shines in through my bedroom window; telling me that Spring is quickly changing into Summer. Alone in my bed, I am curled up in the middle, on my right side. My eyes open fully and take in the scene of smooth, white, cotton sheets and a rumpled, down comforter surrounding my tired body. A smile stretches over my face when I remember today is the first day of my stay-cation. Today I get to spend all day in my garden; it’s not supposed to rain.

    I can smell my coffee maker brewing my life juice in the kitchen. I live for steaming cups of hot joe and the thought of it allows me to rise from my bed with a purpose. I place my feet gently on the cold floor and my toes jump back up in surprise. My comforter has kept me perfectly encased in warmth all night, making the cold floor seem even colder than normal. I smile to myself, thinking of when my mother insisted that I put rugs down in my bedroom. I had refused. I had just had these beautiful floors put in. Why cover them up? I’ll buy rugs and just not tell her.

    I place my feet fully on the floor this time. It’s still cold but not as shocking this time. I stand up from my bed and reach my arms high above my head, stretching my spine. I hear little adjustments and pops as my spine moves and straightens; it’s a refreshing feeling. I must be getting old now, my body didn’t use to make those noises when I was younger.

    I walk three steps from my bed to the overstuffed chair in the corner of my room. I never actually sit in this chair, but I always drape my robe over the arm of it before I crawl into bed at night. As I slide my arms into the sleeves of my robe, another shock of cold runs through me. The pink silk has retained absolutely no heat through the night; the sleeves slide over goosebumps on my arms. I pull the robe in tight to my body, shiver, and tie it at the waist in front.

    I slowly walk toward my bedroom door; my feet are not shocked by the cold anymore. I never shut my bedroom door because I hated it when my mom kept my door shut when I was growing up. None of the doors in my house are ever shut, it’s just me and Harper here; the entire house is my privacy. When I step out of my bedroom and into the hallway, I hear Harper’s paws hit the ground as she comes trotting after me. She knows it must be breakfast time, if I’m heading to the kitchen.

    The coffee maker spits and sputters the last few drops of my life juice into the pot as I’m getting my favorite mug down from the cabinet. I have several mugs, none of them match. My favorite one is matte black with a red outline of an elephant. Harper loses all of her pretend patience as I stir cream into my mug and leaps up onto the counter so she can look me in the eye. “I know,” I say as I rub her fuzzy little gray head and then gently nudge her off of the counter. She runs after me, tracing figure eights on the floor as I dump the wet cat food into her bowl and then place it on her favorite window seat.

    I pet the entire length of her body once, and she nuzzles into my hand as a thank you before devouring her breakfast. I return to my steaming cup of coffee and sip slowly as I watch the morning activity outside of the window that Harper is eating in front of. I have a large bird feeder on a pole several feet from the window, in the yard, and it is always fascinating to watch the birds hop and dance from perch to perch as they eat. The squirrels have not been able to figure out how to get up the pole, but they seem to enjoy the feast that gets dropped to the ground from the messy birds.

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