He woke up. Frying pans. Plates. Egg. Rice. It has begun. And he watched the steam, rising from his still warm coffee, brew war.
"Did I get the eggs right?"
A nod of acknowledgement with the clatter of spoon and fork.
The whisper of a name yanks him from a cocoon of dreamlessness. Palpitations. Voiceless cursing. Humidity of new day. And only a dim awareness of droplets of sweat persisting, forming, nagging and winning.
"Hush now. You've just been dreaming."
A hand running through bedraggled hair with the resounding drop of a head on the pillow.
There is nothing but his eyes flutter open. Sleep chased away. Weight. And there is nothing more painful than having to peel off covers wrapped around, stuck tight to the skin.
“It’s there today.”
Not even a stare with the rustle of the broadsheet’s pages to the obituaries.
He is awake and watches dawn shatter through the blinds, conquering the empty room. Troubled breathing. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. And he waits.
“Are you ready?”
A black pin placed over his heart with the assent of silence.
He woke up. Frying pans. Plates. Egg. Rice. It will continue. And he watched the steam rising from his still warm coffee brew war.