This morning I swatted a fly on my face as I woke up. I had dry spittle on the side of my mouth. The bed sheets stuck to me like honey, presumably wanting to continue what was the night before. That sweet morning sleep. The land between. I lay there for a while. For what reason was there to even wake up, to get things done? What things. Outside a cooling breeze only available to those early risers waved its way on in. The ones that watch the sun rise, usually never see what happens after it sets.

Why was I awake so early? The fly. The window was fully open, I squinted my eyes noticing the wire netting had a small, tiny hole. That must have been how that pesky bugger, now lifeless on the ground, came in. I continued to lay there staring out the window and into the world. Sometimes its big and scary. And other times I could dance around as if no one were looking. Today I felt like I wanted to not remain lifeless. To be in that in between with my thoughts, to evade it all.. But now, that window, that hole. Who knows how many flies are out there, I thought, waiting to get in and invade my personal space. How many mornings will this affect?

I was alone in this house. Sometimes living by yourself has its benefits. There are obvious drawbacks. But when you live alone by yourself, like I do, you can choose your own schedule. You choose when you sleep and when to you eat. You can eat even if that includes a 4am snack as your stomach rumbles, sticking its hungry fist and shaking it at you with it’s bloodshot eyes. When alone, it’s almost as if the world forgets you exist. Its just you, floating in outer space looking down on the world with a blank expressionless face. Just taking it all in. Watching the arguments, the beggar tuck the sandwich under his jacket at the store. You watch faithful women looking at other men. It’s as if only you can see what the world doesn’t want you to see. A secret pact, kept between you. All the shame and all the pity. The heartbreak and sometimes, even, you see true love escaping from the clutches of young people, unaware of what they are even loosing in the first place. Life is simpler, when on ones own time. Unimportant things like hygiene become a less acute subject. I recently figured a system by which one shower a week, keeps me just presentable enough and keeps the water and heating bills from running me out of here. All that precious time, now free to do what is truly important in this life. Although, I hadn’t figured that part out just yet. But that pesky window, something had to be done.

I live in a quiet, sleepy neighbourhood. Seemingly tucked away from the glamour this town has to offer. I wanted for nothing more than to bite into it, to be with it. After all, I moved here in hopes to fulfil some part of that hunger. But you make do with what proximity money can get you. You can see the lights just beyond the horizon, cascading above the mountains into the sky splashing its orange hue out into my window. This city, my calling card, my lady, my beautiful vice. I wanted all of her, I’d see her in my dreams sometimes. But the city has different plans for those who want to come with the will to dominate, to leave their mark. Lady Angel has the upper hand and can break a man in half. And when a man is at half capacity, there may as well be nothing left of him. The mark is left upon you. All I wanted was someone with a little faith, someone that believed I could be someone. To hold my hand a little along the way. But in a city that’s full of strangers, such luxurious are hard to find.

With a grunting noise, I threw the sheets on the ground. They glided down now sticking themselves on to the dirty floor. I walked over and closed the window. Sticking my finger through the mysterious hole, making it bigger as I prodded away. I saw myself a detective attempting to figure out what ghastly crime had been committed whilst I slept. I could play, yes! This could be fun. I’d imagine myself, wearing a monocle, and for no good reason I would be carrying a black leather briefcase, embroidered with a fancy pattern. and in my hand, would be an umbrella – made of wood, with shiny metal prick on the end – in case of rain. My nose was now pressed up against the wire – now frail and attempting to hold on the window. The hole was twice the size it was moments ago. My mind then turned on me, watching me from far, with pity in its glare. There I was. A grown man, in make believe land. I’m only making things worse, I realised. What else was there.

I should eat something. When the mind is flat, when it has nothing to stimulate it. It becomes base. Flat and cold it settles for the rudimentary. For what is animal like. My little furry friends knows all about this. Hector my house friend, was a little brown mouse who would make his famous appearance at 1am, scurrying his little feet double time across the floor after the dust has settled. His little existence, all to supply himself with something to eat. Sometimes, depending on my day, I’d make his life easy, throwing a few crumbs to the floor. Other days, on the rare occasion someone was due to come over, I’d clear the floors of anything edible. I couldn’t make it too easy for him, My little brown Hector. We relate in many ways. And many nights, when he was my only night companion, Id sit there watching him, wondering about it all.

Papers scattered the floor, Unimpressive typing, dull heavy fingers smashing away for seemingly no reason. There was something un-special about my work. Maybe Mother was to blame. I grew up being told what a special boy I was. I’d always smile in response back then. But now, when someone compliments you, its hard to take anything genuinely. I guess at some point along the way, I started to believe her, and then a little further down that same line, I began realising it was all a lie. A fabrication to pass the time. But it was too late, whatever It was kept me searching for it. And now here I was, in this crummy rental, waiting for it to happen. I looked over into the fridge. There was nothing inside but some bread, now stale and some butter. I smashed something together, put some pants on and headed out.

There was a hardware store, just down the street. I thought they would know about wire meshing. Real men with real jobs, good people making an honest living. You could tell a man that was a real american by taking one look at his demeanour. If he was calm. He was right where he should be. It was midday by now and it was already hot. My head felt sore, thinking thoughts my eyes would rarely stay still. My face felt fragile against the Sun. Pale from all those late mornings and even later evenings. I looked around me and it was quiet. All but my neighbours. I lived near an old peoples retreat. A sea of silver hair and silver wheelchairs, smiles showing now silvery teeth. I coudln’t imagine getting old and smiling. Perhaps it was different for them, but the thought of knowing you’ve less life to live that what has gone is a daunting image to swallow. Maybe, I thought as I walked nervously on, its because they are happy at what they will leave behind. Maybe that’s why I’m grumpy and find it difficulty to smile.

As I walked, nothing eventful happened other than a car, driven by a youth, blaring its horn at an unsuspecting old timer. A risky move, one more horn away from a heart attack – what would happen then? Prison perhaps. I’d remember his licence plate in case he tried to drive off. I reached the store and went in. There was the calm american man. Strong jaw, in shape. An honest man. I explained my predicament, even my prodding and making it worse although I left out the briefcase and umbrella details. He recommended a stronger material. Of course, I thought. That makes sense. One that I could play with I said. I was embarrassed but I agreed and bought the thing.

I left more confident about my day, for there was already a success to account for. Now all I had to do was fix the problem. I began my journey back to my rental. Maybe now, I could even treat myself to something from the bakery. It was half way between the hardware store and the house, so it was a perfect plan. As I walked, I passed the same old timer. He seemed, as if nothing had happened. I tried a smile and a nod as I walked past him, but got nothing back. I reached the bakery, it was closed on Sundays. There goes my luck. I thought, it was strange. Why Sunday? Surely any day was as good as ever to pick up something sweet? But then, it seemed too good to be true. To have a perfect plan. So I quickly forgot this and got back to the house, without anything sweet to eat.

I got to work on the window. I fetched some tools I found when I moved in. I didn’t own any tools of my own. Although, now by proxy these rudimentary sticks must now belonged to me. I wonder if I’d keep them when I moved out? It was a simple process. I unscrewed all the bolts, six in total. Four on each corner and two thicker ones on the top and bottom levels. The framing came off as easily as the meshing had taken my finger prodding earlier. Maybe I was an honest man after all. I looked at the new frame and slapped it on with confidence. Like this was a job I had done, countless of times. I was born to do this. Sweat began to collect on my forehead. I wiped it off, cleanly and calmly. And so it went like that for some time. It flowed like a dance one movement to another. My hands felt like a ballet dancer, posed and perfectly attached a meaningful movement. Full and with reason. Gliding on air, it felt as if I could go on forever. No other moment existed but this very one right here, in front of me. An audience watching could even hear my hand cutting through with sharp precision. No thought in between, no wasted gaps, no dullness. Just good clean work. And that was it. The frame was on. The wire meshing, shined back at me, protective of its kin. I did it, and all on my own. I was winning. Today I had completed something. The fly wouldn’t be coming back to bother me in the mornings. Today I had a purpose, a meaning to just be. I felt what it was like to be alive again.

And so, now dark the sky was quiet again. It was cool and the sweat now long gone and dry, just left a cold patter on my mind. When all was done and calm, I thought of home and what mother was doing. I thought of my brother and step-father and long gone animals. The sound of their barking, their heavy breath as they used to come and tumble me over as I played with them. I wondered how they all were, wherever they all were. I thought how distant everything felt and how fragile things had become. Looking back it was all clear. The water flowed clean, and the birds used to sing. My belly always ached with food with Mother lathering on the seconds. Life was good then, a hazy memory now. Foggy in a way, almost make believe to the point of wondering whether it had happened at all. Laughing into the evenings together we lay wondering our lives away. We wondered what it be like, to be old? To have hair on our faces. What will all be like when I’m strong and tall like my Father. When I’m a that classic american man. My body used to itch, burning from the mystery’s that were yet to unfold in front of Mothers special boy.

By now, my little Hector, with his shiny dark piercing eyes came over to me. Just about close enough for me to pet him, just the once, lightly on his little brown furry back. And then he stood still and asked me, what that story was about. And I smiled, and I replied “It was nothing about nothing. It was just a meaningless story about today.”

Then I went to sleep, and I left the window open.