When I woke up this morning, I noticed something odd. Actually, “noticed” is a strong word; something was decidedly different about the feeling of this morning, but I couldn’t nominate any particular aspect of my surroundings to blame for this. This was only the vague impression I got in the seconds following my waking, so I crawled out of my bed and walked downstairs to go eat my usual breakfast. I never made my bed because I’d always go back to sleep in it anyways. What’s the point of such a futile habit? I promised myself in that moment, as I did at the same time every day, that I’d never waste my time doing such a stupid thing.
As I reached the end of the staircase, entering the hallway leading to my kitchen, the sense of unusuality bolstered in strength and began to intermingle with an aura of unease. Strange things are never a good sign for somebody just trying to get through their routines. But I am brave, so I pushed forward into my kitchen. At a glance, everything appeared normal, but the strangeness of the situation was undeniable for some reason, strangely enough. I opened my pantry door and scrounged around looking for my Honey Nut Cheerios. Well, no, just Cheerios. Some bastard had already bought all the Honey Nut Cheerios before I had gotten to the store, only leaving me the boring regular kind. Damn that fucker to hell for all eternity, and I mean that. Whatever, I’m getting off track. I poured my Cheerios out into a bowl and prepared myself mentally for the most exciting moment of preparing my morning cereal: pouring the milk. Regular cereal by itself was bland, there was no excitement! Milk is the quintessence of a spectacular breakfast; cereal without milk is for very sad people, and who the hell doesn’t eat cereal for breakfast?
The answer to the rhetorical question I just posed was, startlingly, myself. You see, the exact moment I opened the door to my refrigerator, I was met with the most heartbreaking discovery, paramount to all other concerns I could have possibly had in any other scenario. There was no milk in the fridge. The magical fluid, the liquid which could make breakfast an unforgettable event, completely stripped from my cereal. It was like the blood of my cereal was sucked dry like juice from a child’s juice pouch, only to be subsequently discarded due to its newfound uselessness. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. It continued to roll in accordance with gravity, finally detaching itself at my chin and falling into the cereal bowl, only adding insult to injury. This would not do. I had to figure out why this had happened. I could never forget to buy milk! My grocery list is a constantly up-to-date text, and I follow it to the best of my abilities. I couldn't have run out either; I buy three gallons at a time, and I just went shopping about four days ago. Something sinister was at play here, something beyond my knowledge. I looked around the kitchen, still in disbelief, until I found the newspaper I had placed on the counter. Typically, I don't read such things, but some kid presumably was paid to leave this tome of societal squalor at my doorstep, and I don't want it in a landfill immediately. The face that was visible from the folded paper was oddly blotched with ink, which was not my doing. I was able to make out enough of it.
“Blank, resident of Bushville… new house in… released several years ago… 20th anniversary…”
Blank? Who the hell is that? Released, as in from prison? For stealing, potentially? Could he have stolen my milk? That had to be the case, what else could’ve happened? Is this the same asshole who bought all the Honey Nut Cheerios? It must be. I had to take my curiosities online.