Average, Chirpy

The pendulum on the clock swung to the left and, as it always did, swung back to the right. Mr Furlong was sat in the living room, the clock on the wall repetitively swaying behind him, the ticking of the clock floated past him, he was numb to the sounds, there was nothing special about today.

He sat, thinking about nothing in particular, the lights dimly making visible, the photo on the wall, a photo from his youth, a photo of what life was once like, of him and his wife stood together outside their home in the country, both of them standing, smiling both unaware of the future, the dim future that awaits them. The photo stared back at him, but he did not notice, the photo was nothing to him, just another permanent fixture in the room that had become a blur to him. On the odd occasions that he did see the picture it would take him a minute or two to recognise the smile that he once wore so elegantly and with pride, he had not felt that smile on his face since his wife, stood at his arm, with the long flowing hair and eyes that burned with the passion of being young and in love, had left him, almost 20 years ago, since then he had remained in his house, alone, waiting, waiting for her to ‘see sense’ and call him. But until that day he would continue to live out the same day, over and over again sitting in his chair, letting his surroundings glaze over him and waiting for the phone to ring, the phone that had now collected 20 years of dust, it had not rung in all this time, whether or not it still worked had not been considered.

The clock continued to tick behind him. And the chime rang for 10:30 A.M. and without the slightest facial expression he rose from his chair and straightened his tie, he walked over to the door and entered the hall, he walked down it at his usual speed, a speed that got slower with every passing year, and over to the front door and when he was within touching distance of the handle the post, as it all ways did, came through the door, he collected it all and sorted through it, binning any junk mail and looking for anything in a hand written envelope, in the hope of a personal letter from his wife, or in fact anyone from his past life, but alas there was just a clear pile left in his hand of bills that he would put on the side and open with his afternoon tea. He left his post and headed back into the room and seated himself in his chair, he sighed with relief to sit back down and as the ticking of the clock began to sway over him again he began to enter his trance like state.

An hour or so past and Mr Furlong had barely moved, his wishful hopelessness still not stirring any emotion on his face when the calm of the tick was broken by a sound, it was a new sound, he felt a strange shiver down his spine, although his face did not contort with the slightest bit of emotion. The sound was getting louder and he finally acknowledged it, he turned to his left and noticed that the phone was ringing, this was new a surprise, a break in his daily routine that had been unbroken for 20 years, he felt his face lift and the photo in front of him became a mirror as his smile and all the hope and joy of youth was replenished to his face, and keeping as calm as possible he checked his tie and hair, an inane task that only came naturally to him, but it calmed him for whatever was waiting for him, he cleared his throat and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’