I heard the sound of my alarm, so I mustered all the will I had to push my body off the bed.

I felt a certain roughness coming from my throat, so I immediately dashed to the kitchen to quench my thirst.

I dashed, but not impulsively to the point that I'd injure myself. Although, it's funny how the surroundings get all blurry while I dash for the refrigerator—is this what Barry Allen feels like while running?

I felt fortunate that I already instinctively knew where the fridge was. My house—or apartment—is not that big, which is why I immediately reached my destination.

I... What? Why am i looking for the fridge again?

Swallowing my dry saliva, I suddenly remembered my objective.

Oh! That... how could I forget...?

What's wrong with me?

Moving it to the back of my mind, I opened the fridge, holding it gently just like how a sweet husband would hold his delicate wife.

Drawing my face closer, a lot of... delicacies could be seen inside—ranging from expired milk, rotting eggs, and a single piece of sock. Yes, you heard it right—but I'm more surprised by the fact that the fridge didn't smell that bad. Or was it just my nose lying to me?

I took another whiff, and then it hit me, almost enough to knock me out. The smell was akin to the mixed blocks of raw meat and fat that you'd see at a meat factory!

First impressions really are always unreliable.

Proceeding to take out the last remaining bottle of water, I looked for a glass, squinting through my nearsighted haze as if focus alone could sharpen my vision.

Speaking of nearsightedness... Was it myopia or diabetes? I couldn't quite remember what the beautiful doctor said a long time ago, but it was definitely one of the two. As for glasses, my current situation can't possibly afford them. But I can't deny the fact that life would've been much easier if I had glasses...

Glasses. Glass.

CRASH—

I looked down at the broken glass on the floor, its sharp edges glittering under the dim light.

I messed up, quite badly at that.

I should clean this up—I told myself, but my body refused to move. Instead, I stood there, staring at the mess as if my gaze could fix everything.

I then felt a sharp sting at the bottom of my foot. I looked down and realized I must've stepped on a shard. Blood began pooling, a deep red against the white tiles.

I should stop the bleeding. I should get a bandage. I should… do something.

But I didn't move, not at first. I watched the blood trail grow thicker, the faint metallic scent rising to my nose. It wasn't until the pain became unbearable that I finally snapped out of it.

I grabbed a towel from the counter and pressed it against my foot. The rough texture bit into my skin, but I forced myself to hold it steady. My hands were shaking, though I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or… something else.

I—I don't know why, but I felt a wave of nausea. My vision blurred again, not from the speed of my movements this time but from something more internal.

I leaned against the counter, trying to steady myself, trying to focus.

I—I need to clean the glass. That's the next step. Yes, I'll clean the glass.

I grabbed the broom and dustpan, but my grip felt weak. Still, I forced myself to start sweeping. The sound of glass scraping against the floor echoed in the kitchen, each stroke feeling like it took an eternity.

I finally finished, dumping the shards into the trash with a loud clatter. I stood there for a moment, staring into the bin, trying to catch my breath.

I don't know how long I stayed like that. Minutes? Hours?

Eventually, I shook myself awake—mentally, at least. The bottle of water still sat on the counter, forgotten in the chaos. I grabbed it and poured myself a drink, this time directly into my mouth. No glass, no distractions, just the cool relief of water rushing down my throat.

I sat on the floor afterward, letting the events of the morning settle over me like a heavy blanket.

What's wrong with me? Why is everything so hard?

I don't know.

I sat on the floor, letting the cool tiles press against my skin. My head tilted back as I stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the silence.

I didn't mean to break the glass. I didn't mean for any of this to happen!

But isn't that what always happens? Things break. I break them. Or maybe… they break me?

I closed my eyes, the weight of my thoughts pressing against me harder than the tiles ever could. My foot still ached, the makeshift bandage damp with blood. I should change it. I should do something. But the thought of moving felt insurmountable.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time felt… strange.

I finally pushed myself upright, leaning heavily on the counter for support. The pain in my foot flared, but I ignored it.

I need to clean myself up.

The bathroom was only a few steps away, but it felt like crossing an entire desert. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my body, a reminder of my earlier carelessness.

I flicked on the light and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I didn't recognize the person staring back.

My hair was disheveled, sticking out in every direction like I'd just rolled out of bed—which, to be fair, I had. My eyes were sunken, dark circles framing them like bruises. And my face… pale, gaunt, like a ghost had taken up residence under my skin.

I look like death.

The thought made me laugh—softly at first, but it quickly grew louder, more manic. I clutched the sink, my knuckles turning white, as the laughter spilled out uncontrollably.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

I stared at myself again, the silence in the room almost deafening.

"What's wrong with me?" My voice cracked, barely audible over the sound of the bathroom fan.

I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my hands before splashing it on my face. The shock of it grounded me—if only for a moment.

I need to focus. One thing at a time.

Grabbing the first-aid kit from the cabinet, I tended to my foot. The cut wasn't as deep as it felt, but the sight of my own blood made my stomach churn.

After cleaning and bandaging it properly, I limped back to the kitchen. The mess was still there—the broken glass, the bloodstains, the chaos.

I can't leave it like this.

So I grabbed the mop and started cleaning. The rhythmic motion was almost hypnotic, each stroke of the mop erasing the evidence of my clumsiness.

But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't erase the feeling in my chest. That gnawing emptiness, the weight of everything I couldn't quite name.

When the floor was finally clean, I collapsed onto the couch. The bottle of water sat on the coffee table, untouched.

I don't even feel thirsty anymore...

I reached for the remote, turning on the TV in the hopes of drowning out my thoughts. The screen flickered to life, filling the room with light and sound. But it all felt distant, like watching someone else's life through a foggy window.

The shows blurred together, meaningless noise against the backdrop of my mind.

I don't know how long i sat there.

At some point, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in shadows. The only light came from the TV, its glow flickering across my face.

I should eat something.

But the thought of food made me nauseous. The smell of the fridge earlier still lingered in my nostrils, a phantom stench that refused to leave.

Instead, I grabbed the water bottle and took a long sip. The cool liquid felt good against my dry throat, but it didn't fill the emptiness inside me.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the couch. The hum of the fridge, the flicker of the TV, the distant sound of cars outside—they all blended together into a strange, lulling symphony.

And for the first time that day, I let myself drift.