Everything was hazy, nebulous, ill-defined… But one thing was certain. She was here. She was alive.
Everything seemed so delightfully mundane – a trip to the market? A evening of reading? A quiet lunch? He couldn’t be sure… But one this was certain. He was happy, and it felt as if it had always been.
And then the phone rang.
No, not the phone, that damned alarm clock!
Max’s one eye squinted at the alarm clock he’d put out of reach so he couldn’t simply reach over and slap it into submission – sound reasoning that he regretted every morning.
Now the dream became a nightmare. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t alive. And he wasn’t happy.
He swung his feet to the floor, turned off the alarm, and made his way to the ancient fridge in the corner.
He withdrew a beer, opened it, and drank half in one gulp. The act of an alcoholic? Perhaps, but in these parts it was smart not to drink the water.
“Ah the life of a smuggler!”, he mused sarcasticly.
His computer intoned a chime. “Time to go to work”, he grunted.