Godless Monkey will be away on a photo expedition of Mexico, Central America and Columbia from March 19th to April 20th. I’m running some of my old stories in my absence for your enjoyment.
Edward put his key in the lock and hesitated. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door and let out a sigh. The groceries weren’t getting any lighter, so, straightening himself at last, he took a deep breath, turned the key and walked into his apartment. His grey, sterile, dingy and ultimately, depressing little apartment.
Not that it was the apartment’s fault that it was so. It was Edward. It was all Edward. The apartment merely reflected back to him what he was. What he had become. Or was it, rather, what he had always been? Or did it even matter any more? More to the point, did it matter to anyone besides Edward, if, in fact, it mattered to him?
Such were the thoughts of Edward Allan Evans on a nothing day in the middle of an uneventful week in the middle of yet another year in a life that was…that was what? He really couldn’t say. It occurred to him that that rather neatly summed everything up.
He trudged to the kitchen, counting the steps, as was his wont, and began putting the groceries away. Everything it its place, and a place for everything, as his mother used to say, God rest her soul. There he went again, channelling her. He tried, and failed, to not beat himself up over that yet again.
Heading for the bathroom he counted off the steps. All Eleven of them. It was always eleven steps, but Edward was a creature of habit. Some might say he was compulsive even. Edward didn’t care. In fact, he had never so much as given it any thought. Of the four grey rooms that made up his world, the bathroom was Edward’s least favourite. For it was there that there was a mirror, and Edward was not fond of mirrors. Had he the energy to do so, he might even loathe mirrors, but alas, it really wasn’t in him to bother.
Avoiding the mirror as much as possible, he did what he had gone there to do and then flushed. Counting the steps from there to the lounge, he permitted himself just the quickest peek in order to run his fingers through his hair by way of tidying it. It was important to Edward that his hair was always tidy.
The eight steps to the lounge proved uneventful, as they always did, and he sat down in his favourite chair to read. Edward was fond of mystery novels. They took him outside of his world in a satisfactory manner, and it was this activity that occupied most of his waking hours between work and sleep. That, and preparing his evening meals.
At six o’clock he put aside his novel and counted off the thirteen steps from his chair to the kitchen counter to make himself some dinner. After he ate from his television tray while watching the evening news he again counted off the steps to the kitchen sink, washed the dishes and then went back for a bit more television before finally retiring for the night.
Such was a typical day in the life of Edward Allan Evans.
Part 2 tomorrow