hyperconsequence/Second Chances

The morning sunrise crept into the bedroom, slowly illuminating objects in the room. Books on the shelves; a second hand lamp which Logan had bought from the market downtown some years ago; photographs in a mix of old frames showing people long gone; and finally Logan’s crumpled face.

He blinked and squinted, and rubbed that crumpled visage of his, and then threw his legs off the side of the bed, and pulled himself up. Walking into the front room, he found his father still lying on the couch, where he had left him after nursing his cuts and bruises last night.

Walking back to the kitchen, past the now broken door, hot coffee had started bubbling away on the stove pot, ready to give him the morning jolt he usually needed. The last 24 hours had provided all the jolts he could take for one period, so knocked the switch into the off position, and just poured himself a glass of water, throwing it back in a single mouthful.