Prompt: an isolated place.
I stretch and roll over, reaching for the controller. Yes, Netflix, I’m still watching; you don’t need to shame me every three episodes. I stand up, rolling the kinks out of my neck and finishing the last swig of my beer. Time for a refill.
The clock reads 8:20pm in the kitchen. I close my eyes tight and flick the lights on, pink flaring across my lids. I rinse my beer bottle and angle it in my washing rack to dry. It’s a long minute that I stare at the dishes from dinner, working up the motivation to clean them. If you don’t clean them right now, I tell myself, you’ll have to do it in the morning, which will make you late, which will make you rush to work, which will put you in a bad mood for your meeting.
Scowling, I wash the dishes, the apartment quiet except for the sink. I hear a door close outside, one of my neighbors back home for the night. Here I am, surrounded by people and completely alone. It’s a strange, compartmentalized life we lead. For a moment, the loneliness pokes at my mind and I consider checking my phone, reaching out into the electronic ether and seeing who reaches back. The feeling passes, the quiet settling in around me, reminding me how much I’ve needed a night in.
I pop the cap off another beer and flop back onto the couch. I wrap a blanket around me, still warm from before I did dishes. Alone again in my sanctuary, I feel content. Futurama isn’t going to watch itself, you know.