Rowan '04: Black Coffee

The phone remained silent.

No one knocked on the door.

The clock's second hand ticked on into eternity.

Sitting in the darkest corner of the couch, Ezra watched as the shaft of sterile light from the kitchen fluorescents was slowly coloured then completely overpowered by the lazy sunrise. Shadows formed around him, receding down the walls almost as soon as they were born. His coffee mug was cooling in his hands. He looked down into its emptiness. It seemed he had drank the night away.

His eyes felt gritty and swollen. He rubbed them wearily before standing up and plotting the familiar course across the plush rug pile onto the kitchen tiles. Before he was aware of his intent, he was watching himself pour yet another refill into his mug. The coffee's blackness was somehow deeper in the morning light, a lonely remainder of the night before. He watched wisps of steam dance across its surface before taking a sip and walking back out of the kitchen, switching off the impotent lights as he went.

Instead of heading back to the couch, his body took him across the room to the front door. He looked out the spyhole to see the breeze skitter a few leaves across the path. Up high in the trees somewhere, the birds had started singing. With a rueful smirk, he moved back to the couch and curled up with his coffee.

Yesterday was still a blur. Had he been too clear about his feelings or not clear enough? Everything ached. He couldn't recall the exact words he had used, only remembered how the lips he longed to kiss had given nothing away in return.

It would be time to get ready for work soon. Monday morning and he hadn't slept a wink. For a few moments, he speculated on the odds of a certain someone having a sleepless night too but soon gave up as the numbers spiraled out of control.

The phone remained silent.

No one knocked on the door.

The clock's second hand ticked on into eternity.