• James Hewlett

A Day In The Life (A short Story)

I was sat on my sofa, legs in the sun, head back. There was something playing on the tv but I wasn’t really watching it, all I could think was, “This is a great time for a nap.”

I looked at my watch at realised it was four in the afternoon.

I didn’t have any reason to feel tired, I hadn’t done much today, certainly nothing that had required a lot of energy and worn me out.

That’s not to say I hadn’t don’t anything though; I’d been to the shop this morning and dropped some supplies to a friend who is quarantining, I’d done my work out and showered after. I’d changed my bedding and put the one I’d removed in the laundry and had done a couple of days worth of washing up that I’d let build.

I’d even put down the Xbox controller after an hour or so of gaming because the sun had come back out and what had been a simple walk to the shed to take the lounger chair out and let it dry off after it got hit by this mornings rain turned into me spraying down all the weeds on the patio and up the garden path. I was in a zone at that point, as I was putting the weed killer away I spotted the ant powder and decided to proactively spread some around the problem spots before they start taking too much of the battlefield from me.

It wasn’t much but it felt good to get something done outside.

So there I was, sat on the sofa thinking, “I could just have a nap.”

I decided not to though, I couldn’t in good conscious let myself completely switch off like that, not when I still had one thing to do today. I still needed to write the blog post, so I took myself outside, sat in the now dry lounger chair and stared at an empty page. This led to some scrolling through reddit, replying to a couple of messages and deleting some email. I had nothing interesting to write about.

I knew before long the sun that was perfectly placed would start to drop behind the trees from two houses away and while it would still be really nice out, I wouldn’t have that direct source of warmth hitting me and the breeze would start to feel cooler.

So I started writing and without even realising it at first I wasn’t writing in my regular style. This was more like prose, it was a narrative account of my boring-for-everyone-else day. I had subconsciously switched it up just to make it somewhat more interesting to read and after a couple of paragraphs had made an effort to keep writing in that format.

The rest flowed easily; I had a germ of an idea and that’s all it takes. I could write about the mundanity of my day but by switching styles I could make it a thing.

The only problem I found myself having was coming up with concluding the story. They say endings are the hardest part, so I took a page out of one of the greats, Stephen King.

That’s when the aliens showed up…


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©2017 by James Hewlett.