It was a dark morning in the living room on that particular day. Some light was shining through, but due to how the house had been designed, it was not due to the window facing the sun.

The carpet, a mix of browns, appeared to be a bit more earthy than it usually was, which was a bit more than could be said for the brown couch that was bought from the side of the street due to the thought that the carpet would compliment it. Well, that was the excuse used to try to hide the obvious belief that it was a compulsory requirement to have a brown couch at some point in time.

The TV was blaring in the face of the current resident of the brown couch. The usual deluge of quality had not changed. Nor did its attempts in coercing the resident into forgetting how to think for as long as possible.

The walls, with a colour somewhere between a pale green and aqua seemed a little taller than usual. However, there was a sense of comfort in knowing that they were there, keeping the resident within the confines of the room, at least until it was required to face anything that could barely be considered the outside world.

As the resident lay there on the couch in the most comfortable position they could be in, unmoving due to the desire to not affect or alter the immediate cosmos in some manner, dust filtered through the bit of light, falling and moving through the room like the fresh snow of early winter in the Blue Mountains.

It was getting warm outside and whilst the living room was providing some relief from the heat, it was inevitable that it would crawl into the space where the brown couch sat and it was also inevitable that, in their state of fatigue and recovery, the resident would eventually have to raise from their position and begin thinking about either going outside where it was less stuffy yet hotter in order to take care of responsibilities such as the groceries, or try and put off what needed to be done in order to exert more energy than should be expected in order to fix the fan so that they could at least get some excuse of a breeze going within the room.

Both options were equally unfavourable.

As the heat began to creep in, it seemed as though the couch itself was sweating. The colour on them seemed to shift ever so slightly, but only in parts, leading to the illusion of patchiness. Yet the couch remained cool to the touch.

Perhaps the couch was as sick of it all as the resident was.
Perhaps it was to mask the resident sweating themselves, for the couch may have wanted to ensure that the resident could save face to some extent.

Perhaps this was all in the mind of the resident, feeling foggy, ill and dry, for it had been a very long night and one that did not need to be experienced.

It may have been being fed up with feeling sorry for themselves. It may have been the acceptance that they needed to do something with their day. They weren’t sure at the time what it was, but they eventually peeled themselves off the couch, slowly so as to not feel the need to throw up and leaving behind something imprinted in the couch that could have been their sweaty form.

Ambling their way out of the room and toward the bathroom, they could still feel the world spinning around them. It certainly made things a little harder than usual, but it did not prevent them from forcing one foot in front of the other. They were thirsty but they also felt the need to shower. At least they could latch their mouth onto the spout of the bathroom sink for a little while.

It felt as though it took an eternity, but eventually they managed to get themselves as clean as they could before somehow getting clothes on. Luckily enough they had sunglasses as they did not want people to know how scattered they were, although the resident did not seem to consider that it would be a little too obvious from the mess of clothing that they were wearing. Still, no one could begrudge the resident for trying. Nor could they be envious of their state of being, for they were barely clinging on to responsibility at the time. It was what was keeping them going through their pain.

Once they were out their door, the harsh sun decided that it would be best to greet them as strongly as possible. It had been mostly dark in the living room, or at least nowhere near as bright as outside of the house and for that they were thankful.

They were used to the sunlight, but on this morning the summer sun seemed a little worse than usual. Still, it was something that they would have to face eventually. They just wished that they didn’t have to face it now.

As they made their way, the resident could feel small beads of sweat forcing their way through their three-day stubble. Whilst the sweat was moving down their face, it almost felt as though it was hanging on their chin and their jawline, trying to cause further discomfort than what was already being experienced.

Their street was longer than usual and they were feeling the motion of walking more than what should be possible.

Everything that had lead up to this moment over the prior days felt like some sort of lead into the punchline of a cruel, unnecessary joke; one that the resident was done being involved in as they just wanted to get on with living.

Although they could not deny that some of the responsibility for this situation lay with them deciding to go out all night, they still felt an unfair hand had been dealt.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 23:55:94

I began this a couple of days ago at work, but I wasn’t able to write much and had to stop.
Having a small amount of time this morning, I decided to start again.

A bit slower than I thought it would be and I was also hoping for something a little better, but I am happy with this writing as I do feel as though it is a slight improvement in my writing.

Written at home.