Cats & Clocks

So far, I actually don't even have a ghost of a semi-invisible half plan.
Which mean I must be doing well :D
And yes, my character's going to be me.
I find it's easier to relate to my character when it's myself.

Ben gave up pretending to be doing his English homework, and fell to staring out of his bedroom window. The view of anything except his own tired-looking reflection was obscured by the mist and fog outside. For an October evening, Ben supposed it was allowed to be this way, and contented himself with breathing onto the window to make condensation clouds. This always seemed to remind him of different times, depending on his mood.
"This can wait 'til tomorrow." He declared, to nobody in particular. A large ginger ball of fur at the foot of the bed stirred, then yawned. "I see you're awake then?" Asked Ben. Monty answered with a yawn and a reproachful stare at being woken up, then fell to cleaning himself. Ben sighed heavily, then rolled over to look at the clock, hanging on the far wall of his small room. "Only 5 o'clock?" he asked his cat. Ben recieved another reproachful look. "Mardy git, it's not like you do anything but sleep anyway." But Monty was no longer giving him the benefit of his attention, having reached the point where he had to wash his face. Ben yawned, sighed again and stood up. He couldn't postpone his night's departure like he could with his homework. "If only it were that easy." He looked across to his cat, who was once again curled up and fast asleep, and strolled from the room.

Ben was a tall and lanky fifteen year-old boy. As such, it made sneaking out of the house at three in the morning rather difficult. Luckily, he'd learned which floorboards and stairs creaked, and where to walk so that he didn't stub his toes. Silently, he stalked through the house, pulling up his hood and grabbing his Swiss-Army knife from the secret place under the coat rack. It was an old one, his Grandfathers, but it was still in a workable condition. The chipped red casing with the inlaid white cross caught the light from the upstairs landing as Ben set about pulling his heavy boots and jacket on. When all the straps and zips had been fastened, he silently slid the lock on the back door with a short file attachment, closed it behind him and strolled out into the blackness, pocketing the knife as he went.

The End

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