Boredom

I can't write, I just do this when I feel the need to write something.

A matte grey light blemished his face as a need for awakening tugged at his legs. The night before was obscure, an old coffee-stained film of motion blurs and optic flares. He tossed his legs across the edge of the bed, preparing to rise and face the day. You could hardly call it a day though, the rain was a relentless tide, just tossing itself to and fro amongst a sea of fog and clouds.

His phone sat idly on the bureau in front of his bed. In his absence of mind the night prior, he had left it communing with his assortment of useless items on the bureau. His brain calculated the likelihood of receiving an emergency phone call, and although it oft entertained these improbable events, it honed in on the ludicrousness of the entire situation.

Author's Note

Note: This was originally going to be a short story, but I never finished it. I like it as it is, pretentious verbiage and all.