Inserting his key into the deadbolt positioned in the middle of his front door, the lock accepted the cut below the pins in the tumbler and granted access to the bearer. He swung it open and it hit the back of the wall behind; as if he opened a portal that led from hell to comfort and consolation. He entered and closed the door behind.
He moved down the hall way to his room and opened the top drawer revealing his evening clothes. They were folded perfectly and in place ready to be used by Jack. All of his clothes were plain and didn’t boast any name brand or flashy emblems; these were clothes to be worn to hide the shame of human nakedness and to keep warm only. All of them were meticulously folded or rolled positioned on purpose inside a sector in a drawer all the way down. He knew exactly what he had, how many, and where they could be found. In fact a scan of Jacks entire apartment would reveal the same. All chosen by utility and not by desire. He had because he needed them; but he needed them not because of utility by for consistency. He needed things to be the same and predictable and Jack exerted control over every single possession in his realm. All things were labeled, cataloged, and filed. He also craved the etiquette of yesteryear knowing that this brave new world had none to offer. It has been a free for all since the sixties, and as a lover of history, Jack retreated to just after the beginning of the industrial revolution. He escaped his own generation, and wandered through the centuries of before; anything but now. He changed his clothing and went into the kitchen and sat at his simple table next to a window that overlooked the street.
The clock ticks upon the wall. Upon my wall ticks the clock. Incessantly marking time, it progresses one instance into the next forbearing death to death and life to life; it makes no difference to this juggernaut clock ticking on my wall. Steady now. Not too fast, not too slow. We are carried along at the appropriate velocity, not forgetting the essence of the cadence resounding serves to remind that time does not belong to me, but instead merely emphasizes the direction to which I travel. The moment we are born we begin to die; the moment I was born I began to die. My time stops for neither my frustration nor fright, which both I pay to this clock treading upon my serenity. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The head hangs upon the shoulders. Upon my shoulders hangs my head. The ears I have on either side, left and right, accept the sound and tempt my mind to entertain. I let out a sigh. I don’t need a clock to tell me what to do. My hand brushes across my kitchen table, small and round, against imaginary debris. The seasoned grains in the tables face, and in the lonely chair on which I am sitting tell me a tale about the fate of some tree in the wilderness, my own body lacks the fortitude to be re-purposed entering into the annals of antiquity like the tree my elbows now rest atop. Oak would make a great casket though. Perhaps I will ask the Mennonite whom I get all my furniture from to make me one, and I shall keep it in my closet. I long for its encompassing rest, I long for the pressing earth, I long for the heavy stone bearing my name on it “Here is Jack Heim, this rock will never forget him.”
Jack sighed as he took a sip from his coffee cup that bore a yellow smiley face on it. The affirming vessel did not however contain coffee, but Black English tea instead.
Ah the tea. The rest of the world’s joe. I could see my reflection in the large circumference of the flavored water. I take another sip; not bad. After eating I bring my breakfast-ware to the sink and slowly clean the remnants into the shallow water and place them on the rack to dry. Putting my hand into the cold water I pull the stopper. While watching the murky water drain away, a maelstrom began to emerge in the water. It twisted and moved about the center of the drain violently pulling any wayward sea farer straight away to the bottom of the ocean. The sailors scream in terror as they meet their destruction, fully aware, in a decisive journey into the abyss. A soap bubble bursts when it connected to the bare metal bottom of the sink; and the water was no more. I took a breath and threw the dish towel into the kitchen hamper.
The light switch clicks when I reposition it upwards as I walk into the bathroom. Centered at the mirror standing on the rug, I look into his eyes and he looks into mine. “I know just as much as you do!” Only a face without expression replies.
Just then Jack heard three slides successively overcame, and the front door creak open slowly. Next He heard footsteps then ended in the kitchen followed by his chair sliding across the floor. Then silence. Jack when to confront the intruder. His heart nearly stopped beating in his chest.
“Jack, nice to see you again.” The figure clothed in darkness knitted a sequence of words simple in nature but reverberated violently inside Jacks thoracic cavity.