Working Title

Just a first draft of a possible opening chapter for a story/book I intend to write

I was the second child of three. I was born on a Thursday, during an anticyclone gracing us with “mostly dry, dull weather in a prevailing north-westerly flow”. On that day, like the Wednesday before and the Friday which followed, there was no news which commands any significant relevance in the world today, other than to the approximately 310,000 people who share my date of birth. From then until this exact moment, my heart has beat approximately 967,405,249 times, and that impermanence, like all else has already been subjected to change.

Looking out from my upstairs window facing westwards, I see green grass brightened by the artificial source that is the front light. I see an apple tree ever bare of any apples. I see the pond in the distance where our fish, Toothsie and Ranger used to swim.  Beyond that the night paints a lazy background of a perfectly mundane picture.

At the foot of my bed rests a four-year-old mongrel dog, sleeping and breathing deeply, his two front paws curled around a pair of cavernous brown eyes. Making sure as to not disturb him, I lay myself down and close my eyes. Time passes. I think but I do not sleep. I do question, exaggerate, worry, and through my inability to sleep, end up doing exactly what I am doing presently.

More time passes, and although exhausted I am as awake as I would be in however many hours’ time. The radiator hisses every so quietly, taunting.  

Today I will not wake up, but I will stay awake today. Opening my eyes from a night of consciousness, I drag myself to my feet, and with blunt fingernails scrape away the “sleep” which had rested at the corners of my eyes. I fasten my watch and pay an incidental glance at the almost entirely obsolete alarm clock on the nightstand.

Looking out from my upstairs window facing westwards, I see a lot more than I will see again tonight. Although never bright, the rolling hills in the distance are spotted with the tiniest specks of white. There are some cracks in the sky boasting intermittent blues, and there are blackbirds pecking at the soil in the garden. 

Author's Note

Welcoming any general opinions/criticisms/praise!

Reviews

[Alan G Stephens]

I have a lot in common with this character.
The insomnia is expressed fluidly with all the sardonic dark humor that comes into mind when awake for a day or two at a time.
"More time passes, and although exhausted I am as awake as I would be in however many hours’ time. The radiator hisses every so quietly, taunting.

Today I will not wake up, but I will stay awake today"
These line are brilliant but I think the radiator bit interrupts the account and might be better placed before the statement.
I liked the statistical analysis of life so far.
Very dark humor is a real strong point and jot to read.
Looking forward to the next bit.
My story opening of "If you'd asked me yesterday..." hasn't been read yet ;)
Alan

[Patrick O'Boyle]

Thanks for the feedback, Alan!