It was fifteen minutes past six in the morning when the only living thing in Apt. #716 awoke. For the next twenty minutes, he remained in bed, completely motionless, recognizing his cluttered surroundings with his mind's eye. He drifted in and out of dreams, careful not to be swept back into deep sleep, and eventually found himself thinking about the past. He did not trouble his mind with any specific memory of his own past at that moment, but with the complex notion of the past itself and it's unyielding grasp on his present and, more fearfully he thought, on his future. The man, still silent, still serenely supine, then thought of when he had thrown trash into the river near his house as a youth. It wasn't because he contained a desire to do it. He was just young and lazy. Unconcerned.
While these thoughts became situated in his conscience, behind the biological curtains in front of his eyes, the darkness that had consumed his room every night for the past thirty-four years slowly transformed once again into the light-bluish hue of morning. Very slightly tinting everything it could reach as the sun ascended on the horizon opposite his room's only window, which, by some past fault, was stuck shut. Finally, Teddy Geisel opened his eyes.
Teddy had always appreciated these instants in the morning. The world, or his world at least, was all so calm. So unexcited. There were no thoughts of war or betrayal or revenge. Everybody was just simply pleased. Not happy, of course. It was much too early for happy. But pleased. Pleased with their selves, pleased with their children, pleased that they didn't die in their sleep the night before because the constant possibility of it had always nagged them. Or maybe not. He could be wrong. Teddy had embraced his own fallibility long ago. Just one of those things, he supposed.
Outside, the birds had begun to chirp and responding to their cue, Teddy rose from his fixed position and sat on the side of his bed and surveyed his apartment. He had liked it at first. Somewhat. He had been shopping for shelter at Watershed Heights for a reason. The ceiling was a little lower than he wished and had that terrible, prickly texture that he'd never understood. What seemed like thousands of little projects and ambitions, all started but none completely finished, lay abandoned on the floor and had ruined the space's chance to be cozy and instead bordered it on claustrophobic.
Teddy looked at his mirror on the wall. He still had some of the youthful qualities of his face, which he was thankful for, and his eyes still contained a bit of the twinkle he had been known for in his teenage years. His long, or long-ish, blond hair was unkempt and intentionally so. He had never given much care towards that sort of thing. He just never understood it. As he continued to gaze at his reflection, a housefly flew in circles and landed on his emulated face. He thought about his life.
"Maybe next time." His reflection said with a steady and unwavering stare. And for just a moment, Teddy Geisel's mind went blank.
