"-rice of food has risen sharply in the last year. That's according to the United World's Price Index. The most cited reason is the decrease in harvests, with pesticides becoming less effective annually. Panic has risen in some at-risk areas - particularly India - which had to ration food five years ago and potentially again within the next few weeks. Ex-'
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up." Mark irritably voiced.
He turned his alarm off and finally opened his eyes, being temporarily blinded by the light from the TV, the night overtaking the day. Eyes adjusting, Mark pulled off the covers and sat up, becoming light-headed, the headache still present but lessened significantly.
With the metaphorical hammer reduced and shrugging himself awake, he glanced at the time on the TV: 6:03pm. His gaze focused on his phone beside his bed, the light flashing from notifications of people he had set as important. Fingers flexing over his forehead, he spoke into the silent room.
"David, please read out all message notifications."
Whilst the phone played the text messages, he got re-dressed into something more fitting for sport. The phone pinged as it relayed the first message.
"Message one." A robotic male said, "Sender: Evan Rogers. Sent at: 5:24pm. Really hoping you feel better, man. Going to suck if we have to find someone else, but let me know so I can get it done ASAP."
'At least they haven't replaced me; suppose that's a positive.'
"Message Two. Sender: Elise Taylor at 5:56pm. Let me know if you're going to the game tonight. I'll come 'round at eight if you don't reply; say hi to everyone and check up on you. Love you."
'God, I don't deserve her. Should buy something for her before the game.' Mark mused with a wide smile.
"Message three. Sender: Frank Evans. Sent at: 5:57pm. Amelia's told me you're not feeling very well? I've gone and picked up some more drugs for you. Unfortunately, it's none of the good kind, otherwise, we'd have to share. They are in the cupboard, top right in the kitchen. Me and Amelia are going 'round to Hakeem's with Alice, so we'll be next door for a few hours. All notifications played."
"Thanks, David." Mark muttered.
Finished getting dressed, he sprayed himself with aftershave and deodorant with a quick visit to the bathroom; he was ready for the game. Still not in the best condition, but good enough to play, he presumed he would be fine in this state. Brushing his teeth, he wore his casual trainers and got his sports bag.
'Boots; check. Shin pads; check. No water, need that. Deodorant so I don't stink like a sewer, yep. Long socks, phone; check. Should be everything, hopefully.'
Slinging the bag around his shoulder, he moved downstairs and into the kitchen. The lights were left on, likely for his convenience, and made a stark contrast to the pitch-black streets outside. Mark groaned.
'They've still not fixed those damn street lights? What do we pay council tax for if they're not going to do anything, anyway?'
Filling a bottle with water and grabbing the tablet box, he opened it and took two of them. Taking them with a swig of water, Mark put both items into the side pocket.
Inspecting himself in the face-high kitchen mirror, ensuring he did not have bedhead, he walked to the front door and placed his bag down. Whipping his phone out in a practised motion, he replied to each of the notifications the AI had read out.
Mark opened the door once he was done, equipping his bag before being met with a large gust of freezing cold air. Instantly slamming it shut, the noise reverberating throughout the silent household, he huffed.
'Holy shit, it's fucking freezing. Fuck going out with just a shirt.'
Jogging up the stairs, trying to warm himself from the frozen hellscape outside, he entered his wardrobe and picked out an undershirt and sweater. Patting himself down and feeling enough fabric thickness to stop the biting cold he strolled to the door. Opening it and stepping out into the same gust, he closed it and flipped the outside biometric switch, placing his thumb and locking the door. Mark approached the gate, surrounded by snowflakes, the ambience akin to a fantastical fairy's domain. A small amount had fallen but not enough to cause problems, yet still noticeable.
He huffed, his dislike of the season being pronounced. Despite snow fitting Christmas like a glove, practically being in every annual movie rendition, it was never pleasant in reality. Inside gazing out, it looks amazing, but outside, it is treacherous.
It was a bleak time of year, yet one loved by many, 'Weirdos' would be the word Mark uses. He preferred Summer; it was warmer, there was less rain, a possibility of a tan and far more outdoor activity. Usually, he would not believe there is a 'right' opinion, but on this, Mark truly believed there was.
Opening the gate and stepping out onto the street, darkness greeted him. Either from the councillor's incompetence or carelessness, the area had been without street lamps for three weeks! Again, if it was summer, with longer days and shorter nights, the problem would not be that bad. Instead, it was December, practically winter, and night appears before you know it.
Grunting at the incompetence of those in charge, almost slipping from ice, he could vaguely make out the street outline and the boundary between road and pavement. Removing his S-Phone from his bag, he turned the flashlight on as he took a right towards the bus stop, moving at a brisk walk. Arriving three minutes later, he saw a familiar sight.
Bus - Leicester University - 28 minutes due to delays.
'You've got to be fucking kidding me. It's been an entire day; what the fuck is happening to the bus service? Is it the weather? Ugh, guess I'm walking again.'
Doing a one-eighty, Mark left in the direction of his house and university. Now a thirty-minute journey, a far cry from the roughly five minutes it takes in the warm comfort of the bus. Nevertheless, he had to get there somehow, and a speedy walk will help him warm himself up before the warm-up starts. It was a positive thought in the cold hellscape.
Interestingly, the further he travelled away from his house, the better his headache became, lessening like it was nothing more than a faint throb. Finally feeling more at peace, a sense of tranquillity and serenity hovering over him, he stopped at the local corner shop; his mood lifted.
Mark browsed the store's selection, picking out a host of sweets for Elise, recognising that she would sit on the side benches for forty-five minutes in the cold. It was the least he could do.
With his mental faculties returning to peak condition and the food brought, he was ready for the game. Thus, he arrived at the university with broad shoulders and a confident posture; his eyes straight and determined. He was ready.