The world went dark, slowly drifting away. My sight disappeared. Smells disappeared. The ticking of the clock drew further and further, muffled by the listless air, until it too melded into the darkness. My mind wallowed in misery a little longer, the last vestiges frantically pacing, throbbing my head as if they were bouncing around, off the walls of my skull, before everything finally went numb. Laid on my back, snugged into the corner, my weary muscles melted into the couch, its warmth and comfort swallowing the last traces of my consciousness.
I dreamed that night. What it was about, I could not remember. Vaguely memorable. Some sort of city environment. An unfamiliar one. I was outside. It was bright and sun-cast. There were people out and about. I remember talking to a few of them. Or rather, they were talking to me. After a bit, I would move on, dodging about. I did not want to interact with them. This kept happening, over, and over. Where I was going, I have no clue. I did not remember, if there was anything to remember.
When I woke up, I was alone. It was hard to tell, at first. That I was awake. The dusty drawing room was sunlit by ambient sunlight. Not in the same manner as the sun-cast streets. The sun did not rise on this side of the house. But, I was none the wiser as I laid there, on the couch, still fading in and out of the dream. The dusty room gave everything the same haze as the city streets, the tiny particles catching the light before it got lost in a corner. It was as if I were trapped in a world of my making. It all felt so real, so much so that, after waking, I could not tell what was part of the dream and what was not. Eventually, it was the heat that got me to get up, subsequently realising I was still at home. I must have thought I was on my way to the flower shop. I pulled at my collar, fanning myself. At once, I regained my sensibilities, crawling to the other side of the couch for my pocket watch. It was not there, on the end table. Peering over the couch into the dining room, I was reminded by the heavy thuds of the grandfather clock there was another timekeeper. It was noon already. Certainly well past the time I needed to be at the shop.
Slumping my shoulders, I sort of accepted there was nothing that could be done, no excuse to be had, and dulled my haste. Thinking about it longer, at least I had no appointments that day. Though, even if it was for a few hours, I should still make my way over to the shop eventually.
Getting up, I looked around. Walked to the dining room. Though the sliding door was open, the sheers hardly waved. It was one of those days, hot and sultry without a relenting breeze. The screen door still held its gape, Looking off to the side, I did not see Alice. I slide open the door, just to make sure, to get a better look. No one.
I realised what I was doing and stood still, aimlessly staring out into the bright clearing. For what reason was I still concerned? Was I not furious the night before? Perhaps I only had myself to blame for all my troubles. As much as I disliked her presence, I could not rid myself of the guilt of neglecting her, now that I’ve seen her faults and vulnerabilities. Other than her strange nature, she really was just a naive little girl in my eyes.
I prepared myself lunch as usual. Opening the drawer and touching the knife handle, I felt a tiny prick, a light sting, reminding me of the cut I acquired. I lifted my finger, staring at the cut for a while, before moving on, taking care not to irritate it any further. Not too difficult. Just bothersome. A sort of muted melancholy dawned as I worked. I was no longer frustrated about the shattered cup. Just disappointed. Without any real motivation, my hands moved on their own, movements slowing down, lacking real purpose. My mind was elsewhere. Absent. Not that I could say I was thinking about anything important. All I could think about was how sore my body felt. Shoulders stiff, joints aching. I wanted nothing but to go back to sleep, properly this time. The thought of my bed was alluring.
Instead of packing the meal, I sat down at the table soon after, eating it there. I still went to the shop that day. Despite what my body was telling me, I had responsibilities after all. Lunch gave me the much needed energy I needed to wake myself up. Though brief, the day at the shop was noteworthy enough to remember. It was a lively Friday, with customers coming in and out most of the time I was open. I even received a few remarks from those who frequent about how they missed me this morning when they first stopped by. My response was candid, admitting I overslept. I’m glad I was as frank as I was, as they met my explanation with reassurance, encouraging me to take care and not work too hard. I could not bring myself to divulge what was truly bothering me, but I appreciated their consolation nevertheless.