untitled. chapter three.

monday.

again.

kate pulled out of bed fighting against every thread composing the warm flannel sheets. delta continued to snore beside her--giant long huffs of snoring; his ears twitched. kate ran her hand across his wet nose and slowly delta's eyes cracked open for a moment before closing again.

the air seemed heavy with cold. the horizon was dark and still. not even a hint of the morning glow. it was early. and while it was her normal hour to start the day, this monday was particularly difficult. she didn't feel like herself; she felt off; but she was unable to pinpoint the exact reason--the cause of her off-set. so while she sat on the edge of her large bed covered in quilts and blankets and pillows and a giant dog, she stared blankly into the darkness outside her window; her mind empty. and while she sat there, delta stirred, the clock continued to tick loudly in the silence, and slowly her body began to acclimate to the temperature of her room without the flood of warmth provided by the tangible pile of homemade nostalgia. finally, the weight of responsibility pushed her off the edge of her bed, slid her feet into their woolly slippers, wrapped a soft robe around her shoulders, and walked her downstairs to the kitchen.

despite her light step and childhood trick of creeping along the wall edge of the stairs, the old wooden planks creaked with age punching the air with each sound and making kate pause--her shoulders in her ears as she'd cringe; she didn't want to wake gregory. halfway down the stairs she looked up at the hanging lantern. it looked heavy and tired on its cable chain. in its obstinance yet calming grandeur, it reminded her of her father. 

"miss you, daddy," she whispered.

a mental note triggered in her mind: dust it and add some polish.