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It was quiet in the kitchen he found himself in. Well, as quiet as it could be considering the ancient fridge that was buzzing its cogs off. The mug in his hand suddenly felt much heavier than it should be. He felt the world zeroing in on him and drifting away at the same time. He was the main character. Or just a speck of dirt on the story’s cover? He probably will never know.
meow
What?
meow . It sounded louder this time.
Oh, it’s just his cat.
Does the creature want to eat? Since when does he even own a cat?
He smacks his forehead. It's been eleven years, deepshit.
meow
He must’ve zoned out. What was it again? Too cold? No?
He was looking at the cat with a dumbfounded look on his face, realising the animal’s demand only after it moved its little bowl with its fluffy paw.
He sprinted into action, grabbing the bowl with one hand and a packet of wet food with the other. The cat must not wait. The cat is priority number one for him.
The cat food plopped into the bowl. When was the last time he left the house?
How could you forget? It was today, not even ten hours passed. He didn’t find it in him to even reprimand himself for forgetting.
He put the bowl in front of the cat. It started devouring the food like there was no tomorrow. A devastating sight, of sorts. A predator compelled to feed from one’s hand.
He was squatting, watching his strange fosterling closely.
Was there something he was in the middle of when got interrupted? He glanced around, spotting the lonely mug left on the table.
Food.
He got up and turned an electric kettle on. When was the last time he shoved something decent down his gullet? Maybe at least a spoonful of rice and veggies would be a nice change of pace? Freshly off the stove the day before. So full of nutrients his body was craving.
He shook his head. No. It wasn’t meant for him.
He went out of his way to prepare the meal in question. Was it worth it? The person it was made for didn’t even look at it.
Maybe you’re just a shitty chef?
"Or, most likely, just a shitty person," the nasty voice in his head suggested.
The kettle made a loud click sound, signalling it was boiling.
He grabbed the mug and a bag of tea. He looked at the box. Cinnamon flavour. His least favourite.
He poured water into the mug and watched the tea brew. He felt his insides clench from the smell of it. He wanted to throw up. He took a sip.
Not a minute later he was by his desk, bringing to life his computer. He put on headphones and turned on some music on shuffle to not waste any time deciding what to listen to. He wouldn’t be able to decide anyway.
The hand with the mouse almost involuntarily opened a tab. The white layout of the site was somewhat blinding in the darkness of the room.
A new google doc was created.