Jacob

Jacob woke up. Somewhere in the distance he knew he could hear rolling thunder, but for now his immediate surroundings remained calm, almost serene, bathed as it was in the thin veil of propitious light.

Taking this as a good omen for the day ahead, Jacob got up. He stood momentarily, without moving, taking in the partially skewed image of his naked body in the mirror opposite and felt the instant need for self gratification. On doing so, the thrill brought him to his knees.

In the shower, he washed his hair, then his body, enjoying the immense heat of the steamy shower-his shrivelled up johnson the only reason he turned off the faucet five minutes and twenty-seven seconds later. He estimated that even three seconds more may have spelt the end of his jovial mornings. He was not to know that ten hours, thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds later, his very stiff johnson would be on display to the staff of the local coroner's office as a result of his unfortunate death. But for now, he simply got on with his day.

Making coffee was one of the smaller pleasures in life, Jacob surmised as he placed just the right amount of granules in the filter. He delighted in the loud puffs of steam, reminiscent of the trains his grandfather had worked on, and the unmistakable, unbeatable smell of fresh coffee in the morning. He poured the piping liquid in to his travel mug ( bought at a bargain store last winter) placed the lid tightly on top and moved in to the hallway.His coat hung on the rack inside the door. It was a rain mac, of sorts, navy and quite boring really. It had one of those strange draw string hoods that always look ridiculous, but somehow are a good selling point because of the fold away zip compartment.

Jacob carried the travel mug in one hand and his mac in the other, hoping he wouldn't have to use it, knowing that even if he did he wouldn't take out the hood, which made him wonder why he bought it in the first place. Walking at an even pace down the same, familiar street as always, the coat continued to bother him-Why had he bought it? Was it an impulse buy? He couldn't remember, but he knew what he was going to do about it. On passing the next dustbin (there were five in total on his route to work) he casually disposed of the horrid item and the thought of it finally vanished from his mind.


Should I continue this story? Someone let me know.