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Through A Tired Man's Eyes

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It’s three in the morning, I have a migraine, I can smell the fresh roasted coffee that’s humming out in the kitchen I can feel the tingling hairs on my chin. I slapped my palm on the ‘snooze’ button on the alarm to silence the annoying screeching and stagger out of bed feeling the full weight of my body get thrown off balance as I take each step on the linoleum floor that is still glistening from the moonlight outside. An owl coo’s lightly and the house creaks from the wind shaking it, I’m not looking forward to getting out of bed this morning. I pull on my heavy pants making sure it’s securely around my waist before I tie it and then pull on my boots which have been smudged with mud from yesterday’s drill. The coffee pot hisses as I lift it off the table and pour it into a mug which I forgot to clean from yesterday’s coffee stains and I groan slightly at its thick taste without sugar.

I gulp and feel it slide smoothly down my throat and wearily reach my hand out to try and find my keys that I always carelessly scatter on the kitchen top. Once I tilt my head forward my gaze meets the dark room and then the pressure in my head comes back squeezing angrily against the sides of my temples causing me to wince a bit. The news paper to my left has been torn from my kids visiting me yesterday, the divorce has been messy and therefore I’ve had so little time to spend with my daughters and son, and yet I’m still grateful for each time I get to see them even if it is for only five hours of the day. I set the mug down and listen to my boots heavily scrape against the floor to the soft padded carpet and I grab my badge that I splayed out on my nightstand, and strap the belt around the loops of my pants making sure I have my mace and gun on each side of me. I walk over to the mirror and glance at the hanging uniform and pick up the razor and begin shaving my chin smooth again.

I scrape too hard and feel a tiny snag on the left side of my cheek and I grab a tissue soaking up the blood looking at the razor to find any trace of the blood but can’t find any. A few cars whoosh by the house and I listen to its rhythmic pattern when I pull on my jacket buttoning each button neatly like an officer’s jacket should be. I adjust my tie that no one will get to see because of my jacket.

When I look in the mirror again the only thing that comes to my mind is. My kids.





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