Rise and Shine
Dawn rises. Liquid gold seeps through the dismal sky. Daylight intrudes into the bedroom, piercing the curtain veil. It casts its sultry glare onto the sole inhabitant.
The cadaver lies motionless, defiant to daybreak’s crude awakening. Morning insists its will upon them. It burnishes the eyelids, disturbing their slumber. They stir, turning their back to the intruder.
Dawn’s strategy has been thwarted. For now.
Minutes pass. Then an hour.
The summer heat is stifling. They sweat profusely under the duvet covers. Daylight persists in fervour. Complacency is snatched from right under them. Once cradled in repose, they are now smothered in a hotbed of volcanic proportions.
They yield.
The duvet is peeled from their corpse with a sluggish limb.
A ghoul rises from its tomb.
It stands wearily in a daze, hunched forward: shoulders stooped, head averted to the ground, eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness.
The ghoul balances precariously as it roams between rooms. Fumbling with each timid step, shuffling forward, hobbling first to the bathroom. Arms outstretched in desperation; clinging onto door frames and planting palms onto walls.
It appears before the mirror, rubbing its eyes fervently to abolish the sandman’s crusted tears. It yearns for a glimpse at its reflection. Before it, a ghastly sight is beheld - bathed in sweat, foul-smelling breath, drool curdled at the corners of the mouth, an oil-glistening visage, flakes of dead skin drifting through the musty air.
Consequences of overnight dormancy coalesce to form the monstrosity that is the “beast of yesternight”.
Rituals are performed dutifully, yet dreadfully. Drops of vigour are restored into the ghoul’s lethargic frame.
Shuffles click-clack on the wooden floor boards.
The ghoul retires to the kitchen.
A kettle whistles. Clumps of coffee carelessly cast into a cafetière. Freshly-boiled water pours languidly into the pot.
Time passes slowly. Second by second.
Steam surges forth from the brewing black nectar.
Impatient fingers tap a graceless tune on the counter.
A crown is nestled upon the french press.
The morning brew percolates steadily with a leaden hand...
A cup of liquid courage is poured to the brim.
The ghoul raises the elixir to its lips, inhaling the rich fruity aroma as it sips. The spellbinding throes of slumber are washed away. The beast of yesternight relinquishes.
A mesmeric sight unfolds.
The ghoul relents. Its body creases out of exhaustion. Its mind sweeps the smog elsewhere. The ghoul, now revived to human state, delights in the simple morning pleasures, basking in caffeinated euphoria.
Its shuffles mould into half-measured strides. Its arched posture unravels, returning to a lofty stature. Its eyes teem with vivacity.
Tantalised by the holy trinity of productivity - inspiration, motivation and discipline - it slips into raiments befitting a sense of boldness and determination.
The human rises to meet the glorious day awaiting them.
Another attempt at word economy and compression (468 words). Why another short piece, you ask? Sometimes, like novels, even short stories require meticulous planning and research. It is during these times of relentless outlining and drafting, that I truly appreciate the craft of flash fiction.
While it certainly still requires some form of outline to begin with (as all good writing does), I relish the opportunity to actually put words down to paper. Flash fiction gives me this and more: it provides the necessary cathartic release that I need, as well as giving me excellent practise at choosing words carefully that befit the story’s voice and style.
Also, who doesn’t love a bite-size piece of writing to consume when they’re on the go?
This is a simple story that most caffeine lovers relate to all too well… The early rise for morning commutes and daily endeavours for our careers sometimes require that much needed “Pick-me-up”. I find that a freshly brewed cup of coffee in the mornings is enough to perk me up for the day ahead.