5:11AM
The ceiling fan turned slowly above the bed.
Its motor gave off a low buzz that filled the room. Beneath it, almost hidden, was the faint ticking of an analog clock somewhere in the apartment.
5:11 AM.
The alarm clock on the bedside table glowed red in the dark.
5:30 AM.
That was when it was supposed to ring.
Tristan Brennan lay on his side, staring at the wall.
His eyes were open.
The fan kept turning.
The clock kept ticking.
Nothing else moved.
After a while, he let out a slow breath and sat up. The mattress sank beneath him as his feet touched the maroon carpet, which looked dull in the morning light and somehow smelled like wet wool.
He sat there for a few moments.
Then he stood.
The apartment was quiet.
He walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light.
For a second, the mirror reflected only the room itself. White tiles. The sink. A towel hanging from a rack.
Then Tristan stepped in front of it.
His hair was flattened on one side and sticking out on the other. A few days of stubble covered his jaw.
He leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet.
Cold water hit his face.
When he looked up again, droplets clung to his eyebrows and beard.
Beside the sink sat a faded green toothbrush.
Next to it was a tube of toothpaste folded near the middle and squeezed nearly flat.
Tristan looked at it.
A few seconds passed.
The water continued to run.
Then he picked up the toothbrush and brushed his teeth.
The brushing echoed softly through the small bathroom.
When he finished, he rinsed the toothbrush, placed it back beside the toothpaste, and looked at himself in the mirror.
His hair remained exactly the way it was.
He turned off the faucet and walked out, leaving his wet gray slippers behind, both facing the bathroom door.
After leaving the bathroom, Tristan walked through the apartment.
The computer was already on.
Its monitor cast a pale glow across the dark room. Everything beyond its light dissolved into shadow.
A video editing program sat open on the screen.
Tristan walked past it and into the kitchen.
The room remained still.
The computer hummed quietly.
A few moments later, Tristan returned.
In his right hand was a white mug filled with black coffee.
In his left was a white china plate carrying a few slices of apple and two cherries.
He placed both on the desk.
Then he sat down.
The monitor's light reflected in his eyes.
On his face was the faint yellow-white light of the computer.
For a few seconds, the screen remained unseen.
Only Tristan's face.
His expression didn't change.
Then the monitor came into view.
A video was paused.
A child's birthday party.
The frame had stopped at an oddly specific moment.
A young boy sat on a yellow plastic chair, pointing toward the camera while looking at someone off to the side.
His mother stood to his left, caught halfway through a clap.
His father was bent over near a cluster of balloons, focused on something outside the frame.
A birthday cake rested on a brown plastic table made to look like wood.
Nobody moved.
The room inside the video remained frozen.
Tristan stared at the screen.
The coffee steamed beside him.
After a moment, he let out a slow breath.
"Okay."
Then he reached for the mouse.
Tristan pressed play.
Voices of strangers celebrating drifted from the speakers.
Children laughed.
Someone applauded.
A woman said something just outside the frame, followed by more laughter.
He worked in silence.
The mouse moved.
The keyboard clicked.
Every now and then, he paused the video, trimmed a few seconds, adjusted the colors, and played it again.
His coffee slowly disappeared between small sips.
The slices of apple were gone.
Only the two cherries remained.
A notification chimed from somewhere behind him.
He glanced toward his phone.
A payment notification appeared.
He swiped it away without opening it.
The birthday video reached its end one last time.
He watched the final few seconds in silence before clicking Export.
A progress bar slowly filled across the screen.
When it reached one hundred percent, he closed the project.
The room fell quiet again.
Tristan picked up the mug and finished the last sip of cold black coffee.
He stood.
The plate still held the two cherries.
He left them where they were.
He walked back into the bathroom.
The light was still on.
He stopped in front of the mirror.
For a second or two, he looked at himself without moving.
Then he gave a quiet sniff through his nose.
Nothing more.
He turned the shower on.
Water burst from the showerhead.
The stream fell through the air.
Before the first drops reached the floor…
Chapter One Ends
