Judgement: Run, run, Before You're Well-Done!

                “You… were my life…. But now… you’re all my strife…!

                A man stirred from underneath his light sheets in the sub-darkness of his room, his sleep disturbed by the radio. It was a nice room, too. There was a large, red king-size bed with a soft memory foam mattress and an oak header. The walls were an inky black color, which made the room seem much darker than it actually was, plain rectangular window panels with plain blinds (slightly open), two dressers that rose to the ceiling, two end tables on opposite sides of the bed, and an entertainment unit that housed a plasma-screen TV, all made of oak. The carpet was a brand-new shag one.

                Pulling the sheets off of him, the man threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his gritty, unshaven face. There was something else on there, but he shrugged it off. It was probably drool. He didn’t even bother looking at his clock as he hopped to the floor, he always woke up at the same time regardless if the alarm went off: 6:00 A.M. And even if he were to wake up late, his wife would splash some hot cocoa in his face. So he obviously didn’t wake up late. However…

                He looked to the opposite side of the mattress. Empty. Of course. He’d forgotten that she had a business trip for her company (which was mainly a hardware company) for this week. Like all the other millions of times she had one. He even made her late for quite a few of them when she had to leave early in the morning like today, though she only got in trouble the last time this happened, and she forgave him for that, so everything was okay. They were crazy about each other, anyway.

                Already becoming his energized, happy (albeit a tad lonely now) self, he sort of skipped to the master bathroom. Sleek peach tiles covered almost every surface in there, sans the toilet, sink and bathtub. There was a medium-sized mirror straight across from the doorway, which was straight across from their bed, and was really great for spying on each other. When it was clean, that is. Which it wasn’t.

                Written upon the mirror with cherry lipstick was a good-bye note left from the man’s wife, dotted with hearts, saying how much she loved him and that she’d miss him and yadda yadda yadda. He wished that she wouldn’t do that on the mirror, but he was made even happier by it, nonetheless. What made him laugh though, after wiping the lipstick off the mirror, was finding his entire face covered in kiss marks, smeared everywhere thanks to him. That was one thing about her: she was crazy, but not legitimately insane. And so was he. Thus a perfect match.

                He wiped off his face with a shammy-rag thing, shaved, and took a good look at himself in the mirror. His face was young, looking to be like somebody in his mid to late forties, which was ironic, since when he was a kid, he always looked a couple of years older than he actually was. He had a slightly pointed chin and a face thinner than most men, as it was for his nose, though his ears were kind of big. His eyes were a blue color that sparkled with innocence with an almond shape. In recent years, his once-wild brown hair had been tamed and smoothed over, even when he woke up; he also liked to highlight it with different colors occasionally, but right now there were only blue highlights in it. Physique also became important to him, when he was younger, though. He worked out at least every week, making sure that he had a strong structure, but at the same time making sure he wasn’t becoming too muscular. He thought it didn’t look good on people who were six-foot and two inches tall. Only people that tall, though.

                As he took off his shorts to hop into the shower (also sticking a toothbrush in his mouth), he noticed a piece of paper lying on the counter. Picking him up, he became a little cautious. His wife only left two notes when she wanted him to pay attention to something. Like their anniversary. Being reminded of that, he made sure to take in every detail. The note was brief, however, and said only this:

“Just in the case you didn’t catch the last part on my little writing on the mirror, take a look at the clock.

This is for making me late last time.

See you when I get home, Honey~ X3



                Setting down the note like it was a bomb, the man slowly backed out of the bathroom to take a look at his clock. He turned in slow motion towards the device, dreading the moment of truth. When he finally turned completely to the thing, what does it say?

                11:45 A.M. Three hours after he was supposed to be at work. The toothbrush seemed to plop down to the ground for him. That was another thing about her: She liked to play hardball. He didn’t. Not a perfect match.

                Going utterly crazy, he frantically went through his dresser and pulled out random things to put on. A brown pair of pants, a pink button shirt, a green plaid tie. He didn’t care. He even didn’t make sure to take put on his unlucky lab coat, instead putting on one of the ones that he hadn’t used in a couple of years (he believed himself to be naturally lucky, but he wanted to make achievements through his own hard work, so he constantly wore his so-called unlucky coat). He also usually made sure to put on mismatching socks, but for some odd reason the ones he pulled out matched.

Though, the one thing he never left without was his I.D. Card. It would make it impossible to continue his research without it. Opening a secret drawer that was underneath another secret drawer, he snatched it, briefly making sure it was the right one. “Fujitsu Kamoguchi, Head of Genetics Department, Stoenn Labs of Din”.  Yup, right one. Though he always felt it should say, "Age: 53"

Slipping on some loud, blue dress shoes, he sprinted down his steel spiral staircase, he ran through his kitchen, sliding on the granite island and knocking everything off of it, he threw open the garage door… only to find his car gone.

Forgetting that it broke down the other day and that it was being repaired, he started freaking out even worse. He could barely hold onto the handles of his 1990’s motor scooter as he pulled it out of the corner it was buried in. He pushed the door opener on the side of the kitchen door and barely waited until it was even half-way up to start shooting out of it and into the bright, sunny city that was Din.

The End

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