In a suitable follow up to yesterday's prompt, today we write about: waking.
All right, I finally managed to get a picture of one of our restaurant deliveries:
From left to right: two pints of raspberries, two pounds of salad blend, two more pounds of salad blend, three pounds of kale, five pounds of shelling peas, five more pounds of shelling peas, and six more pints of raspberries.
We actually managed to get through an entire day without any rain falling. I honestly don't remember the last time that happened.
He wakes with a start, arms and legs flailing as he struggles to free himself from his tangled sheets. Sitting upright in bed, his breathing ragged, he searches his bedroom for the source of the noise that had interrupted his dreamless sleep.
Finding nothing out of place, he tries to recall what, exactly, had disturbed him. A car alarm? That doesn't feel right, and the street outside his window is silent.
Perhaps the neighbor's cat had found another stray to scrap with and their screeches had pierced his slumber. But no, that doesn't seem right either. It had been calmer than that, almost matter of fact.
No, that would be impossible. The doors and windows are locked, he'd made sure of that before turning in. No one else owned a key and the house alarm is top of the line. And yet...
Shaking his head, he climbs out of bed and heads for the bathroom, thinking to relieve himself and splash cold water on his now sweaty face. He flicks on the light and freezes in place, the writing on the mirror triggering his memory. That's it, he thinks. Those were the words that woke me.
Smeared in his late wife's red lipstick, the message is short and to the point.