The oddest thing, the way light played with the peripheral vision, he thought while sitting at his desk. It was a naturally wonderful morning, unmoved by pollution, not a suggestion of dust, or manhandled heat, just a light breeze, and the promise of a world anew, and he had no better commitment that day than a small, family hosted party celebrating his brother's engagement. He should have been in a relaxed, and refreshed state of mind.
However, he kept coming back to it, as the cigarette mixed scents with the coffee and tumbled across his vision. A growing sense of unease had gripped him, quite peculiarly, during an otherwise serene morning rhythm. An incident, physical, that morning, Underneath the apple tree, shimmering in the garden, a puncture in the perfect harvest, a pricking of the balloon. Despite the dewy and humid warmth, he shivered, and cold clinical hands scuttled across his back, leaving reminding goose-pimples. He had tried to put this one to bed, rake over with dead leaves and forget, but still, the sense remained etched on him, like a screen-burned thought.
These thoughts escalated from a simple musing, to a deep thinking, to a panic, to a hurried search for keys, for escape, for anything. Locking the thought in, he drew up another inhale on the cig, tapped it out, and headed for the bathroom, still thinking, still internally going over the same hamster's wheel, time and time again. His brow furrowed as he searched through a yearbook life, mentally scanning faces, reactions, for anything, anything that could explain this feeling now. Shaved ten years off, staving away those thoughts again, with a simple act. Rubbed his chin and clicked the light off again.
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