Day 57: Alarm Clock — The Shark Agenda

Write about waking up.

"I mean is there anything WORSE than being woken up by a fucking siren? Fuck alarm clocks right?" He chuckled, nervously.

I didn't say anything. I just looked at him.

He continued, "I was blissfully sleeping, ya know? Dreaming about being on a yacht with some super hot girls, all of them college-aged, which is like, the best age, right?"

He was trying to goad me into saying something but it wouldn't work.

"Anyway, so I'm hanging out with these hot girls, all blonde hair and blue eyes and long legs and two of them decide they wanna fuck...RIGHT NOW." He laughs at himself for a good five minutes.

I shifted slightly in my seat but otherwise made no reaction.

"So I take them to one of the bedrooms on the boat and just as we're about to do the damn thing, I get ripped outta my sleep by the most annoying fucking sound in the world!" He starts getting visibly agitated.

I take a sip of water and wait for him to finish.

"It's her fucking alarm clock! I kept telling her to use the fucking buzz feature on her fucking watch but does she listen? NO! She never fucking listens to me. How selfish is this bitch? I don't wanna wake up if I'm not ready!" He balled both hands into fists.

I keep my face unbothered but inside I'm starting to boil.

"You know that disoriented feeling when you're like, just waking up? Especially when you were sleeping peacefully?" He continued, "I hate that feeling. I was having such a fucking good dream and she fucking ruins it because she doesn't LISTEN." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked. "Please speak up."

He glared at me for a bit. "I said, she never fucking listens to me. I was so mad, you know? I hate that stupid alarm clock I fucking hate it. So I broke it."

I cocked my head. "And then?"

He clenched his jaw. "I broke it... on her head... a few times. I was in a blind rage, you see? I can't remember how many times I hit her. But at least the alarm stopped going off, am I right?" He laughed, hysterically.

Bile rose up in my throat. "Thank you for your confession, Mr. Stevens." I looked at his lawyer. "Let's talk outside."

“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”