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Edgar's Morning

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Edgar Bartholomew lifted up from his bed with a sudden thrust of motion. His eyes, for the first time that day, spread wide and observed his current situation. Although minding the sudden brightness that illuminated his view, Edgar glanced across his bed. It’s thick, heavy sheets and covers, which rested atop his long and thin legs were kicked violently to the side with another thrust. He steadily raised his lengthy arms and pushed off the bed for leverage to stand, and once on his feet he swerved his head about to regain his orientation in the room he had lost it to late that night before. Edgar’s personal effects were sprawled across the carpeted floor, journals, reference books, pens and pencils, mostly business things of sort. His foot came down on the binding of a red book, but only the corner pricked him which felt as though he had plunged his bare foot down onto a cardboard nail, not the most comforting of sensations. With the sudden rush of pain he managed to hobble over to his bathroom while holding his injured toe in one hand.

The mirror was dusty, as if a ghost had sneezed on its reflective plane. Edgar tried as best he could to smudge the dust off, he then peered deeply into the glass. He saw only one ugly, slender fool. It was nothing surprising, he hadn’t expected anything better—well, maybe worse, but not better. Edgar had only just woken minutes before, so his mind was still clouded with the drifting spell of sleep. His entire mental state was clogged and he had trouble articulating single thoughts; this mind-jam as he called it, would run its course and wear off in good time. Edgar’s eyes lowered to squint at his shirt, his pajamas rather. They were blue with white stripes. Or were they white with blue stripes? The thought hovered in Edgar’s mind for a bit and then fluttered off. Edgar’s unshaven chin was a prominent trait that he never seemed to be able take care of, it persisted and haunted him the most when he was getting dressed up. Edgar’s bright blue pupils were indistinguishable behind his sagging eyelids, and below them hung a few circles that suggested a need for more sleep. After a extensive and dull few minutes of hunching, Edgar started to return to sleeping. But before he could completely submerge himself in sleep while standing upright, the phone rang. He made his way over to the little table or nightstand. But he simply stood there, expecting himself to not answer the call.

He didn’t.



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