Mornings in the Dark (Otherwise Untitled)
#25 of Short Stories
An otter experiences a typical morning.
~ Frank rolled over with a groan. The ceiling was a soft blue-ish glow, and he could faintly make out the shadows cast in moonlight on his far wall. The otter looked to the clock. One in the morning. He resumed staring into the featureless sea of dimly blue ceiling above him, before he slide out from the warmth of blankets to stumble to the bathroom. Perhaps this would address matters. The blankets still held a pocket of mostly warm upon his return.
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~ It was somewhere between two and three in the morning when Frank opened his eyes into the torrent of light that was the blue glow from his alarm clock. It took a moment for the glyphs to be recognized for what they were, and for what they were to be recognized as a time. The otter adjusted the blankets, and settled back into the embrace of slumber.
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~ Nearly four in the morning arrived, with the otter gradually becoming aware of the patting sound of rain against his window. The moon-lit shadows had gone, and the morning was otherwise still. The symphony of rain splots was broken with a frustrated sigh, and the re-arrangement of blankets and pillows.
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~ At precisely a quarter past five in the morning, Frank's alarm clock began to croon with the sweet songs of the local heavy metal station to greet the day. Frank, being nearly finished with his shower, would soon stumble out and damply suppress the call to rise. It was going to be a long workday.