Quench - Robin Little
Posted: 19 Jan 2016, 10:49
The winter sun hung low in the sky behind a barrage of clouds. It didn’t matter how thick those clouds were or how low they hung, for their promise of rain did little to mask daylight. Fredrik drew the curtains shut with a scornful tug and returned to his empty bed.
It was the insistent pitter-patter against his window that roused him from fitful sleep. In the dark, he lay with his lacklustre eyes focused on the ceiling fixtures, their plaster outline highlighted by the outside light filtering through the space between curtains. Every so often, a breeze would flit through, ruffling a drape, and in turn letting more light in.
Restless, Fredrik stretched until every stiffened joint cracked. Then, he relaxed back into the mattress, keenly aware of the wrinkled sheet beneath him. He spent many minutes as he was, listening to the pitter-patter surge and ebb against the glass and concrete. He may very well have fallen back asleep for an undetermined amount of time.
There was only one thing that could cure his indolence. His gaze flitted to the nightstand, barely visible in the unlit room. With a huff, he rolled onto his side long enough to reach for his phone. When the device was firmly in his grasp, he collapsed onto his back a second time. His eyes watered at the brightness of the screen, thumb dragging across it to alter the settings until he could stare at his phone without inducing retinal pain. Blinking, he went through the motions of unlocking the SIM card and searching his contacts. Only one name stood out tonight: Robin Little
His thumb hovered over the phone number, but Fredrik thought better than to call the other at this hour. He selected the option immediately below, and lifted his second hand to the phone to type his message with greater ease. Once sent, he rested his hands across his bared stomach and returned his gaze to the ceiling. In due time, he’d either muster the energy to get out of bed or get a reply, but until then, he waited, uncertain which would come to him first.
It was the insistent pitter-patter against his window that roused him from fitful sleep. In the dark, he lay with his lacklustre eyes focused on the ceiling fixtures, their plaster outline highlighted by the outside light filtering through the space between curtains. Every so often, a breeze would flit through, ruffling a drape, and in turn letting more light in.
Restless, Fredrik stretched until every stiffened joint cracked. Then, he relaxed back into the mattress, keenly aware of the wrinkled sheet beneath him. He spent many minutes as he was, listening to the pitter-patter surge and ebb against the glass and concrete. He may very well have fallen back asleep for an undetermined amount of time.
There was only one thing that could cure his indolence. His gaze flitted to the nightstand, barely visible in the unlit room. With a huff, he rolled onto his side long enough to reach for his phone. When the device was firmly in his grasp, he collapsed onto his back a second time. His eyes watered at the brightness of the screen, thumb dragging across it to alter the settings until he could stare at his phone without inducing retinal pain. Blinking, he went through the motions of unlocking the SIM card and searching his contacts. Only one name stood out tonight: Robin Little
His thumb hovered over the phone number, but Fredrik thought better than to call the other at this hour. He selected the option immediately below, and lifted his second hand to the phone to type his message with greater ease. Once sent, he rested his hands across his bared stomach and returned his gaze to the ceiling. In due time, he’d either muster the energy to get out of bed or get a reply, but until then, he waited, uncertain which would come to him first.
Can you deliver tonight?