It was mostly dried sweat he woke up in. The joints had kept overnight. Beneath the knees; behind the neck; the groin - that was still damp, but only slightly. The sun had never risen. He fumbled beneath the pillows, diving for the phone that he slept with. It was definitely still early. He searched for reason briefly before being interrupted.
'Goodbye' the voice ironically introduced itself.
'Goodbye' he half responded, half echoed. It wasn't a long echo and he returned to sleep.
'Wake up' screamed the synths and hollow bass. For the second time in the morning he fumbled for the phone. He quietened it. There was light now: skidding through curves in the curtains and - based on the dryness – evaporating the sweat. There was still a knot in his stomach. Through the early morning fogginess he could still sense an untoward presence. There was an expectation of him as if something in the universe was awaiting his next move.
He grabbed the curtain that ran alongside his mattress with one hand and violently jerked it towards him. The sunshine piled up over his blankets. It was beautiful sunlight. But with the window open the sense of something less simple observing him grew stronger. Using his mind he willed himself vertical and away from the sheets. He shut the door and left the room with a glance behind him.
Water sprayed down, washing the last of the dried sweat away onto white tiles and preparing a body for a day of achievements. He left feeling strong and refreshed, walking through the kitchen past the pile of plates stacked by the sink and back to his quarters where the feeling of being watched returned.
He stopped and stared out the window, observing every detail. There was no eye contact but he could feel it staring back. Charged, he set about upturning every end of the room, discarding every loose and unwanted item. Blasting away the cobwebs and dust. Absorbing the energy created by order. He began to feel stronger. Inversely he felt the stare weaken as it paralleled the sun, which began to drift back downwards for the day.
He lay on the carpet - coiled and taut – strengthening himself for any upcoming battles. He'd already planned his outstanding debts and bills, paying them so that anyone who followed him wouldn't have to. The phone calls had all been made. His legacy had been prepared. The window refracted the twilight as he turned into his room with sore but prepared muscles and checked his progress against the always staring presence. It was the chaos that inspired all this organisation. He tensed in the doorway – sensing the power of the watching presence dissipate into the orange sky. Detecting weakness he ripped his shirt off his chest and threw it on the ground, screaming with power and rage, summing up the confrontation of the day.
Meekly the To Do List stared back, badly hacked at the stage, few appendages left. Only 'Write Journal Entry' was left dangling below the white board marker title 'TODAY' written at the top of the window. These final words were created as those final words were wiped away.