Welcome Descent (Chapter One)

Chapter One - Steel and Concrete

On the closest thing to a good day, it would be a resilient beam of morning sunshine that woke Joe. Blistering, golden light would slice through even the densest mid-morning cloud and creep its way to the snoring, farting mass of limbs named Joseph, still tangled in his sheets. On this particular Friday, however, it was his radio alarm—or, more specifically, the opening brass band notes of Jingle Jangle Jingle by Kay Kyser—that did the job.

Yippi yay, there'll be no wedding bells for today

'Fuck me,' Joe groaned.

He flailed an arm to silence the ear-splitting, merry tune, failing spectacularly and knocking over a whiskey bottle instead; the now empty bottle that had helped him get to sleep the night before. It fell to the floor with an almighty, hollow THUNK.

Joe stretched out the side of his face with a stiff, clammy hand and let his mouth open wide in an aggressive yawn, as if to curse the sun for rising. He had turned forty-two the week before and every day since had been a taunting, spiteful reminder of how easily his body would give in under the slightest physical strain. Apparently now, simply waking up was asking a little too much. He gave one more strenuous groan and threw himself out from the bedsheets, nearly landing on the bottle he had just backhanded. The vile mix in his stomach rolled in place, launching a bitter, battery-fluid taste of acid reflux into the back of his throat.

'Goddamn,' he said with a scowl. He ran a hand through the thinning, pale hair of his temple and stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling window, stretching his arms out at unnatural angles.

It was a shitty day to say the least; the congested city street below was bathed in a miserable sheet of mist and stark blue shadow, cast down from the impenetrable, gray clouds high above. They were tumbling over each other like the froth of a swelling evening tide and barely a candle's glow of sunlight could be seen through the black. Joseph imagined the heavens were him, daring him to hope for a good day.

Go ahead, asshole, I dare ya. I see half a smile and I'll be shitting hail.

All the pedestrians and cars eleven storys below were dulled in detail and volume, sealed away behind that magnificent two-inch glass. Joe liked the view from up here. It was the distance he enjoyed, the distance between himself and the swarm of always stinking, always staring nobodies. He regarded the impending storm once more before making his way across the small studio apartment into the conjoined kitchen. He made sure to nudge the bottle with his heel so that it rolled under the king-sized bed with a prolonged rumble. The final notes of the swing jazz monstrosity had finally burst through in distorted squawks and now the day's news was being read by the world's least entertaining DJ. His voice was a droning bass and he sounded about as pleased with his job as Joe was about his breakfast—the brittle remnants of a long-expired box of cereal.

'We have a big one coming in, folks. We're looking at a category two for now but keep me close because we may have a three on our hands. You don't want to be strolling around the streets of Dawn Valley during this one, that's for sure.'

'No shit,' Joe snorted. He spat the last bite of his sticky wheat cereal back into the suspiciously thick milk of his bowl.

He grabbed one of the last few apples from the fridge and gripped it between his teeth before snatching the Oxford button-down from the back of his one and only dining chair. The shower would have to wait until after work; he had set the wrong time on the alarm again and the large, red numbers were blinking at him with merciless repetition.

10:34. Shit.

He didn't dress quickly enough, however, to avoid seeing his reflection in the darkened glass of the window across the room. There's nothing quite like spotting yourself in poor lighting, especially while bent over trying to fish a tie from a pile of dirty laundry. He was, by any definition, well-groomed; he kept his haircut tidy and his face clean-shaven, but below the neck he was hiding a chest of tangled white hair and the early warning signs of a beer gut.