The Quiet Time
by Aaron Longoria
Fischer pulled himself from the warm confines of thick, woolen blankets as he left the comfort of his sofa. Images from the television permeated the darkened living room, some dancing along the opposite wall. He walked towards a window. At three-o-eight on a Saturday morning, the street was deathly quiet. The soft luminescence of neighborhood street lamps bathed portions of his block.
Fischer loved early Saturday mornings better than any other day or night of the week. It was his personal quiet time from the hectic, work-a-day world. He gently opened a sliding window. The cool morning’s air was fresh and chilly.
It felt as a thing alive and stirred his sleepy consciousness.
Fischer walked into the kitchen. The stove light was always on, a perpetual night-light. He looked at the sink stacked with dirty dishes. Nothing dampened his serenity of the quiet, magical three o’clock hour more than an ill-kept kitchen.
Fischer peered outside the kitchen and down the hallway. He spied a light from his partner’s bedroom. Gunderson read throughout the late-night hours while Fischer watched his old, familiar television shows.
Fischer returned to face the kitchen to resume rustling up a snack. Approaching the main counter, Fischer spied assorted ice cream containers neatly arranged atop the speckled, pressboard counter. Each container had been scraped clean, spoons presumably thrown in amidst the mass of sink-filled dishes.
“Why are there empty ice cream containers left out?” Fischer asked loudly.
Something unintelligible was his response.
Fischer shook his head.
(Aaron is a dog handler for a Doggy Daycare, and on some evenings, he waits tables for a well-established, Chicago-based pizzeria. He's a writer, voice-over actor, and creator of fantasy and science-fictional worlds, and getting back to avid reading.)