Sunday.

Lazy day.

The only day I get to have a lazy day. I work Monday through Saturday, and even after leaving the office I stay up until about one in the morning working on my laptop. My family says I’m a workaholic. Coworkers say I need to take a vacation. I don’t need any of that. I need to get him out of my mind. It had been 11 months, twelve days, and… nine hours on the dot since…

Sunday.

My favorite day.

I warm up some homemade hot cocoa on the stove, hazelnuts for added flavor. And just to snack on.

Mmm, cinnamon. Mother gave me these t-lights for christmas. To help me relax I suppose. They work. By the time I sit in my armchair it smells like fall in my livingroom.

Fall… Red leaves falling to the ground. Crunch, crunch, crunching beneath my feet. His almond eyes glowing in the sun… A better time.

Interior design is my job. My hobby. My passion. I go in and make places look… unique. I give a boring four white wall cell, character. I pick up my latest book. Living. That’s what I do. I take inanimate objects, rooms, and floors and give them life. That is my life…

Living.

What does it mean to be living? To breathe? To Laugh? To work? To die?

I am curled up in my gray wool blanket, throw pillow fluffed to my liking, and I inhale the nutty chocolate fumes of my hot cocoa.

There’s a knock at the door.

Six-thirty PM on a Sunday.

No one knocks on my door. I live out a good mile from my neighbors. I need the distance. To be alone. To be safe. Are we ever safe?

There’s another knock.

With reluctance, I set down my porcelain mug onto my sweetgrass tray. My thumb rubs over the chip on the handle. It’s funny how you forget things, but remember the events you wish you could bury. No matter how hard you try you can’t hide away from your own mind… What a terrible thought.

Another knock.

They certainly are persistent. A chill dances up my spine as I discard my blanket. My feet thump thump against the hardwood floor. The gold handle is warm in my hand. And I wonder, why am I so hesitant?

With a swing of the door, like a current raising, he is revealed. His smile is wide, showing off his pearly whites like a cheshire cat. And I know now, all this time, was a waste. There is no escape from Wonderland.

A Picture It & Write Inspiration.