It was a sombre Saturday morning. Flipping through the channels endlessly had made his thumb sore. He gave a glance towards his right on the yellow corduroy cushions hoping to find a distraction; a piece of edible biscuit crumb or his mobile phone. But there were only an old receipt from previous night’s take out, a pen and a small rundown notepad with a few pages sticking out at odd ends.
He likes to thing that he has the capacity to be organized. In reality the last time he used this notepad was two months ago because Katy had left him and he wanted to take out his angry with words instead of with an outburst of unnecessary punches on his best friends.
Not having the energy to get up and scoop his mobile phone from the table four feet away, he grabbed the notepad and pen, swapped off the receipt from the and proceeded to lie down on the couch with his head supported by the armrest and a soft coushion of the same dirty yellow color.
He flipped through the pages trying to block his emotions and looking at his past self rationally.
“I could have really used some support at that time.” He thought, remembering how he decided to keep the details of his breakup a secret from everyone because he had felt embarrassed at the time thinking how he had failed in life.
He stopped at a page, coming across something that wasn’t written by him. Reading it made his heart rate race.
“Look under the couch.”
