stream of consciousness - nanowrimo chapter three

I haven’t had a lot of sleep recently so am more than a little surprised to wake up on the sofa after a brief doze. Someone has kindly removed the coffee mug from my hands to save me from spilling it all over myself. I see the blue and white mug resting on the heavy wooden coffee table. My first thought is that there is no coaster, this might ruin the table. I fight back an overwhelming urge to laugh at the futility of this concern. I fear if I start laughing I may never stop and this would make me no better than those who run the streets. I reach for the coffee but it has gone cold. I head to the kitchen to refresh myself. It’s important to stay as awake as possible. We used to do it in shifts with people resting and people watching but we got lonely. We decided it was better to stay together. Maybe it’s better to not die alone. I’m new at this. The coffee machine gurgles and splutters as a fresh batch is made. We have tinned food salvaged from what was left of a supermarket near where I used to live. Lots of packets of freeze dried coffee pile the work surfaces and endless packets of cigarettes. I think the end of the world would probably be unbearable without something to smoke. The coffee machine gurgles and I turn out the lights so I can peek out of the blinds to see the street. I know what I’ll see but I do like to look. The street is empty and dark, a sole street light on the other side of the roundabout remains intact. Puddles of liquid dot the roads. It could be rain; it could be blood or other human secretary fluids I can’t tell from here. This is a very busy road; it’s weird to see it so empty. Well, it was weird at fist. I’ve grown used to the calm and the quiet now. I think a part of me embraces it. The coffee machine gurgles one last time before sighing out the hiss that tells me the coffee is ready. I drop the blind back down over the sash window and switch on the light. I pour my mug and the mugs of those I hold dearest. Plain black, no milk. We couldn’t find any milk, this bothers me less than the others I think because I never took milk anyway. The mugs go onto a tray and the tray I carry back to the sofas and place on the coffee table. Hands reach for the drinks and we continue our silent patient vigil.


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