The bakers neighbour

Fred woke with a start, panting, heart threatening to leave his chest. He threw himself off the bed, hitting his head on the bedside table. He was blind! He... His eyes adjusted to the bright light that seeped into the room from wide-open windows into his sparsely furnished apartment.

"It's alright honey, you're home, you're safe!"

She wore her usual unusual smile, lips slightly parted, eyebrows slightly raised, and concern written over her face.

He sighed in relief. Everything was well. Leanne was still home which meant it was early. Better yet, he was home, which meant no bullets had his name and no explosions were out searching for him.

"I think I love you, Leanne!" He said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Only every day." She said, correcting her hair in the mirror, "You promised to at least try to talk with Shayne, this is what, the fourth time this week?"

"Something like that," He replied. Tenth, he thought to himself, but it was as much use telling her of his sleepless nights as it would help speak to Shayne across the street. Not that he doesn't like Shayne, it was just that you could never get a bit of him, he was an or nothing kinda guy. Fred was neither all nor nothing.

"I got to go now," She blew him a kiss, "See you tonight, I'll be home after 7!"

"I'm a lucky man." He whispered, and he meant it.

He performed his morning routine methodically, making the bed a certain way. Sheets, blankets, and pillows set up to perfection feeling comfort in the practiced motions. He ate breakfast, brushed his teeth before clothing himself in front of the mirror. Courage, he told the smiling reflection. Not only would have a walk to the city square today he would try to talk to at least three people. He was a man waiting to live and it seemed like it wasn't too far off now.

***

Fred woke with a start, panting, heart threatening to leave his chest. His pillow was wet, and he lay shivering without a blanket. He looked to the side, the silhouette of Leanne slightly visible under a tower of pillows and blankets as if she was waging war with the night. She snored audibly inside her fort and everything was well.

He went silently over to the window so as not to wake her. The world outside was sleeping, undisturbed by all the consequences that came with the light. The cobbled street below was empty save for a cat who seemed to be there just to spite emptiness. Either that or maybe guard their street against unwanted visitors. He smiled despite his exhaustion for there was light coming from the bakery. Bread never sleeps, the owners had a habit of telling him. It seemed to be true, their ovens always spitting out warm treats, and they themselves spreading small kindnesses around them. Good people, people that took broken things and made them less so. He would have to visit them in the morning, maybe surprise Leanne with freshly baked bread. He liked that idea. Best to do it now while the ingredients were still available. Who knew how long it was before they started rationing again. He crawled back into bed and asked for permission to enter the warmth of the fort and together they waged war against the night.

***

The birds screamed him awake. Leanne called it singing, but one couldn't possibly sing when there was so much wrong in the world. They sounded more like bad memories, loud and obnoxious. Leanne was also singing, her voice trailing up from downstairs, probably while making breakfast. He smiled then. It seemed she only shone brighter when it got dark but he knew it would get darker still. He had tried persuading her to leave but he knew from the start she wouldn't even consider it and he loved her for it.

He went over to the window, closing it and banishing the screaming birds and the smell of fresh bread to the outside world. He wanted only the inside world today where it was safe, where everything was well and where Leanne made it so. He then went back to bed and fell asleep to the sound of her song.

***

Fred lay awake in the dark and he hated it. Rather than startling him, consciousness had slowly crept up on him unaware and now he lay staring at a hole in the ceiling. He looked to the side but the sun had not yet gone up which meant the day was yet to come. Worse yet, there was nobody there beside him. He started his morning routine, hands shaking from the effort. Throwing the disheveled blanket on the bed, brushing his teeth despite not having eaten anything for days, and put on the dirty clothes he had thrown on the floor the previous night. He glanced at the broken mirror, and he didn't like what he saw. his skin stretched tight over bony cheeks, eyes hard and empty. Courage, he told himself, but he had none left.

He went over to the window, breath wheezing in his lungs. The world outside would not awaken. The cobbled street was broken, its finely laid pattern destroyed by a big crater. Roof tiles had spilled from a neighboring house making their front yard look like a child had tried to color it with a red marker. The bakery lay in darkness, its insides displayed to the world only two walls still standing. Finally, the bread slept it would seem. War put everything to sleep, everyone but him. For he was a lucky man, people kept telling him, lucky for he survived when others did not. He didn't feel lucky then, he felt broken. He had been broken once and destroyed twice and now he was a man waiting to die. Luckily it didn't seem it was too far off now.