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There was a piercing ache in Mark's head as he rolled out of bed. The alarm clock was screaming in his ears so loudly that he couldn't even think. He squinted his eyes open and held his ears, looking around for his phone. He reached out and smacked the top of his alarm clock, relaxing when the silence lapsed, although it left his ears ringing in the aftermath.
"Time, time, time," he chanted, eyes searching around as he moved to spot his phone lying on the floor beside the bed. The duvet was wrinkled and creased from the comfortable night's sleep he had gotten. The screen read 8:06. Early. It was a weekday so he really had nothing to be waking up for. His alarm had probably forgotten to be turned off.
He stood up and held his temples soothingly. It was painful this morning. Very painful. He walked slowly into the kitchen, where he poured a glass of cold water and sat up the the island, hair tufting out and messy. His eyes were still squinted from the sudden light of waking up. He resumed massaging his head and exhaled, flicking his gaze to the window. It was bright outside.
But his body just didn't feel right.
He felt sluggish. Sore. Skittish. Tired.
His hand was shaking as he gripped his glass of water, the liquid inside sloshing over the sides and running down the surface. He placed it harshly onto the island and ran his trembling fingers over his face, stopping when the cupped his cheeks. His mind was foggy and clouded. The thoughts were slow. The movements were slow.
Something definitely wasn't right this morning.
•・•・•
"You're looking dapper today," the lemonade stand lady chirped as the purchased drink slid across the counter to him.
"Thanks," he smiled and took it up, sipping at it.
"Special day?"
His smile faltered and he looked down at the black suit he was wearing and the tie. It had been his dad's. He had taken ownership of it many moons ago. "It is." He regained his happier disposition and wished her a good day. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
The streets were fairly busy with parents and children, lone strollers, friends, those hurrying to work and the alike. He took his time as he passed by the faces he never had and never will recognise. Just the passerby's. The sun was warmly lighting up his skin, making it seem less pale and sickly than he was feeling. The cool drink took the edge off the headache as it usually did, but nothing took the edge off his slow but relaxing demeanour. The small, old-styled shopfronts crept past him as he moved towards a particular shop.
Joggers passed by swiftly. He thought of the butterflies in the field. Swift and delicate.
The key to his place was in his pocket. His phone was on his bedside table at home. His home appliances were all turned off, and the rooms had been cleaned. He had dusted the mantelpiece before leaving. It should be presentable.
