Rusty Faucet: Part I

The early morning sun sheds through the fraying curtains like a mole burrowing through tilled soil. The room is again lit by the sepia hue that the faded red of the curtains produces every morning. The cot in the corner of the room creaks as the man turns over restlessly at the new sunrise. His eyes open slowly allowing the light into his faded corneas. A sigh escapes his chapped lips and quickly turns into a nettled cough.

Niall rolls over and slides under the mosquito net hanging over his cot. As he rolls up the net, his eyes pass over the picture frame turned down on the nightstand. He brushes one gnarled finger over it and pulls it away with a fresh coating of dust. He blows it off his finger and picks up the pair of glasses next to the frame. The glasses settle unevenly on the bridge of his nose and he blinks the world back into semi-clarity.

A rooster crows down the street as Niall scrapes the last of the coffee grounds from the rusted can. The cabinet is empty without the pitted can inside it. The steam rises out from the coffee pot. He looks down into the pot and sees a couple flakes of rust swimming in the tepid tan liquid. His reflection drifts back at him through the ripples. He slides the coffee mug across the counter away from him.