"Wake" by Ackelia Williams

There was a loud thump like a sack of potatoes being dropped on the carpeted bedroom floor.

Then there was the stomping.

A toilet flushed.

Fast, heavy footfalls on the stairs like a stampede of one.

He raced into the kitchen, tripping over his shoes, left there the night before. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wild and bloodshot.

He pulled out his chair, the legs scraping sharp and loud over the wooden floors. He fumbled to open the laptop as he sat down.

His hands shaking, he reached for the headset and slipped it hastily over his head.

Keys clacked loudly.

Incorrect password.

He swore.

He rubbed at his eyes and then typed again, this time more carefully. Within seconds a call came through.

"Hello," he croaked. "This is Henry, are you calling for yourself today?"

His voice was gravelly, monotone and thick with sleep. He was certain the caller could tell he'd just woken up.

He looked up at the woman, leaning against the kitchen sink, smiling smugly into that ugly green coffee mug. She was wide awake, looking perfectly refreshed. Her chocolate-brown eyes sparkled in the early morning light. The dark coils of her afro framed her head like a halo. Her skin, that beautiful brown skin, glowed clean and bright.

He shot her a fiery glance.

The mug hid her widening smile as she watched him struggle to string coherent sentences together. He tried desperately to wake himself.

"Yes, that's correct," he said to the caller, rolling his eyes. "English is, in fact, my first language. But can we get back to how you're going to pay off this debt you owe?"

After that first call, came two more equally infuriating phone calls, before his first break of the morning.

He yanked the headset from his head and threw it onto the table.

He exhaled loudly.

"You could have woken me," he said angrily, looking to his wife who had stood watching him the entire time. "You know they're looking for a reason to fire me."

She said nothing. She'd woken him every day for the last two years and he'd come to expect it. The sudden change had thrown him for a loop and had utterly disrupted his morning.

He went to the counter and reached for the coffee pot. It was empty.

"Dammit, Georgia!" he said, slamming the glass pot onto the hard countertop, causing it to shatter. "You could have at least refilled the pot. How am I supposed to make it through this blasted day?"

He walked towards the fridge and shrieked in pain as shards of glass cut into his bare foot.

She made no effort to help him. He hobbled back to his seat to pluck the pieces of glass from his foot, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He sat with his right foot on his left knee and inspected the cuts.

"Can you fetch me the first aid kit?"

Her brows were raised at him, but still, she did not move.

He sighed, exasperated.

"Please," he added.

The doorbell rang. He swore again.

He looked at her, and she looked back at him, unmoving.

"Oh, please don't get up," he said sarcastically. "I'll get it."

He stood up and, hopping on one foot, went to the door. He pulled it open to find the mailman clothed in his bright red fleece and an arm laden with brown cardboard boxes and white letter envelopes.

"Good day, Mr … Henry James?" he asked, eyeing the front of one of the envelopes.

"Yep," he replied unenthusiastically.

"I also have a few parcels here for Mrs James."

"Great," Henry said, opening the door wider. "You can chuck everything right here on the floor. I'll sort through it later."

"Of course."

The mailman dropped the post by the door and left. Henry closed the door behind him and still standing on one foot, kicked one of the parcels with the other.

He was being spiteful but instantly regretted it as he ended up hurting his big toe in the process.

Henry could feel the rage building inside him, almost overriding his mental grogginess. He just needed to get through the day in one piece.

His stomach growled loudly.

His laptop started to beep, which meant his break was over.

"Looks like all that stuff you ordered, finally showed up," he said. "Don't expect me to carry any of that. As you can see, I'm injured."

He took his seat again and placed the headset over his head. His eyes fixed on the screen, he resolved to block out his surroundings.

She was punishing him for something, he thought. In response, he decided to ignore her and focus solely on his work. Two can play that game.

"Hello, this is Henry, are you calling for yourself today?"

He helped a few more customers. The minutes dragged into hours but he kept his resolve. He couldn't hear or see her. He couldn't tell if she was still in the room.

Henry was finalising a transaction with a customer when the doorbell rang again. He looked around the empty room.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he picked up his laptop and limped to the door. His sister Luna, was smiling at him with a tray of something in her hands.

"Hey little brother," she chirped. "I brought you lunch."

He signalled for her to be quiet while he was still on the call. "And can I get the long card number on the front of the card, please?"

He stepped aside to let her in, laptop still in hand.

"Is there anything else I can do for you today?" he asked the caller.

Luna watched and waited patiently for him to finish. She looked around the kitchen, at the broken shards of the coffee pot and the dirty plates in the sink, the pairs of shoes by the stairs, and the trail of blood.

He removed the headset and sighed.

"I'm sick and tired of these people," he said annoyed. "But I need this job."

Luna nodded.

"I didn't realise you were back at work already," she said.

"They only gave me a week," he told her with a shrug. "Do you want a cup of tea or coffee?"

He then looked to the floor at the remnants of the glass coffee pot.

"Oh right, mind your step there," he told her.

"Where's the broom?" she whispered. "I'll clean it up."

He looked at her wordlessly.

"In the…" he started. "I honestly don't even know," he said, helpless and dejected.

He then sat down with his face in his hands and sobbed. Quietly at first, then louder, ragged choking sounds.

She went to him.

"I'm struggling, Luna," he said. "I'm really struggling."

"I can see that," she said with a smile in her voice, as she squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

That made him laugh a little.

She was looking around at the state of the place when the photo frame at the centre of the table caught her eye. She released him and retrieved it.

"This is a lovely photo of her," she said with a smile. "I don't think I've seen it before."

Henry looked up.

"I brought it down from our bedroom last night," he said, wiping his face. "It's one of my favourites. I used to love the way she smiled at me over that ugly green mug of hers."

Luna smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes.

"That's sweet," she said, tracing her finger gently over the glass.

"I realised today that I'm useless without her," he said rubbing his arm. "I don't know where anything is, I can't even wake myself up in the morning. I don't know how I'm meant to survive this."

"You will," she said firmly. "It'll take some time but you'll get through it." She'd said it with such conviction that he almost believed her.

"I just want to not feel or think about it for a while," he said, throwing his hands up. "But everything in this house is her. She's still receiving mail here like she hasn't been dead for over a week. And people keep sending cards! I wish they would stop already."

She listened to him and squeeze his shoulder again, but didn't say anything further.

THE END

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