The Chosen Chronicles - Mules, Knaves and Close Shaves

Chapter - Preview

When there's a story you want to tell, how do you choose at what point to start it? Sure, you launch at the beginning, obviously, but that's just the problem now, isn't it? Where is the beginning? Figuring out which event set off the chain of reactions in question isn't always that easy.

For me, though, for this particular story, well... it's not that hard at all. I know exactly when this whole thing began, because none of it was my fault at all.

It all began on a day like any other, when the god-awful alarm jarred me to consciousness that morning with all the subtlety of a landmine to the ear.

I wasn't in the best of moods, as one never really is, seconds after being forcibly yanked back to harsh reality at six in the morning with a full day of paperwork ahead of them.

"Honey."

"Unghrrwr."

Oh, mornings. Always barging in too soon, unwanted, uncalled for. And then there was the dastardly herald, the clock still chirping with sadistic glee, the cheerful tone a drum in my ears.

"Honey."

"Gonswerfive more minish," I insisted. I squeezed my eyes shut and sank deeper into the covers.

Of course, it didn't help. The clock kept chirping, as it always did. And likewise did my wife's encore.

"Honey,"

"Alright, alright," I moaned.

I propped myself up on one elbow and blinked. There it was, the fiend, buzzing on the dresser conveniently, of course, out of reach. I grunted, stretched and yanked it towards me. Up close and personal, the infuriating tone hammered home the nail already halfway through my skull.

"Honey," Mona whispered again.

"I'm doing it, I'm doing it," I mumbled. I raised my fist and let it hover as I groggily took bearings. I released. I felt impact.

There was Silence.

Blessed, beautiful Silence.

I closed my eyes tighter and stuffed my face deeper into the warm, soft pillow. The sheets were cozier than I had ever known them and the pillow... oh the pillow. In all its nights of faithful service, it had never felt this good.

I cut the anchor and began to drift off again. The dream was around the corner, somewhere... I couldn't remember it, I knew I wouldn't, but I was going to try and see...

"Honey."

My eyes scraped open. There was pain. There was agony.

"Now," I whimpered, "WHAT?"

"You don't want to be late again. Remember yesterday."

I sighed and turned around to stuff my face into my soft, warm pillow.

"Scrooyeshtideh."

"Honey."

"Five moh minish."

"Honey."

It was gone. Over. Not coming back.

"Alright, alright, I'm GOING."

Hands balled into fists, I pushed myself up and balanced on my arms, prepared to roll over the side.

"Hey, Alan," she added, turning over, "Don't forget the dry cleaners."

My suit. The wedding anniversary. The dinner we'd planned months ago and forgotten till just that moment, halfway out of bed on a bleak Wednesday morning. There's nothing like a ray of sunshine at the end of a dreary day to convince one to get out of bed in the morning, and with that to boost me up, I quite agreeably pushed off and toppled over the edge of the bed.