When I woke up, fall had murdered summer. I had heard a bubbling sort of noise coming from the innards of the radiator. I mistook it for the glutural voice of a life form from outer space and opened my eyes in fear. I smelled rain resting on elm leaves in front of the window and I heard water dripping on a tin bucket in the yard, playing the tango of a madman. Thirty minutes later, after a dreamless sleep, I got up. A chill gripped my neck and moved down my torso and legs. I almost tripped over the phone cable, which felt like steel under the naked sole of my foot. There was ruthlessness in the air, of a reckles nature, that directed a force towards herself with feelings of a betrayed creature, that had waited almost one year to reclaim its power.
I pressed the light switch in the kitchen and a supernova in the ceiling blinded me. I stumbled to the corner. When I regained eyesight, I examined the room. A piece of grey bread was lying in a puddle of brown flour on a plate next to the espresso machine, which seemed asleep. I summoned the animal, that was somehow involved in the coffeemaking process; the glow of its red eye emerged from behind the power switch, as I flicked it. Ten minutes later I allowed bubbly lava to drop into my cup. I leaned against the sink, sipping espresso. Sunlight hit a package of golden flaxseeds.