Morning Tea

Just a nice little story that I began to write during a time of boredom

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1. Morning Tea

Morning Tea

 

It was nine in the morning when Matheas woke from his slumber. It was a quiet morning, one in which not even the birds were singing. Matheas noticed the quiet and smiled. Thoughts of a peaceful morning came to his mind, one that involved a nice cup of tea alongside a fair slice of bread accompanied by some strawberry jam. Matheas pulled the covers from his body, and slowly placed his left foot over the side of his bed. His sock-clothed foot touched his thin carpet, and took on the pressure that came from the weight of his body. Matheas' other foot came down to join the first.

Matheas yawned quite loudly, while stretching his arms and lifting himself from his bed. His fingers followed through his dark brown hair. Finally it was the time to open his eyes for longer than the simple moments that came from the process of waking.

Matheas jolted his eyes fully open, and noticed a bright light coming through his window. Sheilding his eyes, Matheas pulled down the blinds. Much better, he had thought. After taking a breif pause for another yawn, Matheas walked towards his door and opened it.

Making his way to the kitchen, Matheas took time to notice that it was indeed a very quiet morning. However, once he had arrived at the kitchen, the thought of the morning's peaceful silence left his mind, as a new thought of a small breakfast had pushed itself into his area of focus.

With a flip of a switch, and a careful placement of a kettle, Matheas had his tea on a boil. He seated himself at the kitchen table, and fiddled around with the bread and jam until a familiar whistling sound alerted him that his tea was properly brewed. Matheas lifted the kettle from the heat and poured himself a small but fair sized cup of tea. He then brought his beverage to the table where it could be enjoyed alongside his bread and jam.

Slowly dining upon his breakfast, Matheas looked around his kitchen, noting his photographs on the wall near the door. He looked over them, coming to a stop at each one, bringing about the memories of when they were taken. His eyes finally fell upon the image of his mother and father, it was taken during their wedding night. His father was holding his mother's hand, as she stuck a large fork-full of pie into here mouth while resisting a smile. Matheas enjoyed this picture. It gave him ideas of what it would have been like to have met his mother.

Finishing his bread, Matheas wrapped the bread loaf in the cloth that he usually kept it covered with. He placed the loaf back in its usual spot and walked over to the door. His hand touched the yellow brass handle of the door and twisted. Upon opening the door, Matheas began choking. Outside his door was a dull green mist. He slammed the door and fell to the ground.

Matheas could feel a burn from his nostrils to his lungs. He gasped for air, but failed at doing so, each attempt at breath only wore him out. The burning in his air passage began to bring tears, as Matheas tried to call for help, his vision began to blur. Slowly he lost consciousness, lying upon his kitchen floor.

Around a half hour later, Matheas woke from his dormancy. His hands instantly came to his neck, which still was raw and dry, along with what Matheas presumed was his lungs. Matheas sat, and listened to the strange noises which he was not familiar with. They sounded like a cracking of sorts, as if an engine of a vehicle was backfiring. They were frequent, but they did not distract Matheas from his now dry and raw air passage.

Quickly, Matheas got to his feet and travelled to his sink, where he filled a glass of water, and quickly drank it. There was a taste in the water, which was of a putrid flavour. This caused Matheas to spit it from his mouth. What the hell is going on? Matheas wondered to himself.

Matheas opened a drawer near his stove, and pulled out a small wooden box with metal bits and strange pieces attached to it. Turning a small knob and pressing a rather dangerous looking button, Matheas turned on his emergency radio. The radio was distributed by the Government in case of natural disaster or other strange occurrences.

The sound spluttered for a moment, as the radio began drawing power from its battery pack, and finally the sound came. Static.

The thought of awaiting for a government announcement was useless, as something must have been interfering with the signal. What could possibly be interfering with the Government Broadcasts? Perhaps there is a terrible st- Before Matheas could finish his thought, a thunderous boom shook the house that Matheas was in. Dust clattered down from the ceiling, causing Matheas to drop to the ground in case of cave in.

Minutes went by, and Matheas got up from his position on the floor. He peered out his window to see a figure making their way towards him. Ah! That must be the neighbour, maybe he knows what is going on.

Matheas watched the figure approach him, slowly the figure visualised through the mist. That is when Matheas knew what was happening. Matheas made out the figure's clothing, It was military, and upon the figure's face was a gas mask. In the figure's hand was a rifle, fixed with a bayonet. Matheas stood at the window, in horror, as the figure raised its weapon and aimed it at Matheas.

Matheas opened his mouth to scream, but the bullet was already within the air, passing through the window, and passing straight through his skull, carrying a tail of poison gas, glass, and bloody matter until it struck the wall. Matheas' blood splattered along the wallpaper, and coated the picture of his mother and his father. After a second, Matheas' corpse fell to the ground. It layed on the ground limp as another crashing boom shook dust onto his corpse, and into the fragile white cup of Matheas' morning tea. 

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