Eclipse

The morning sun filtered through the grimy window of a small apartment, casting a patchwork of light and shadow across the room. 

A abrupt persistent beeping broke the silence and Steven Grant startled in his bed violently waking up , tangled in sheets that were as disheveled as his mind. His heart raced pounding like a drum echoing in the stillness. The remnants of a dream clung to him, elusive yet haunting teasing him at the edges of his memory.

With a groan he sat up rubbing his eyes as if to erase the remnants of the night. 

The room was artfully cluttered.

artifacts plastered on bookshelfs intermingling with stacks of books that where on every surface.

 The air was thick with the scent of stale tea and the faint hint of something else, something unsettling. 

He blinked at the chaos his brow furrowing in confusion. Was this the third time this week he’d woken up like this? no it had to be the fourt right ? He questioned in his mind.

He tiredly tried to rub the sleep from his eyes but it clung to him strongly. 

He laid there for a moment gathering the remnants of his mind like scattered pages that where ripped out of a book.

Before he began to get up , lifting the soft blue blanket around him and placing on the othere side of the bed reaching to check the cuff that was strapped on his ankle he pulls it a bit to still check that it was secured on the support beam he signs and tiredly and slowly undoes the restent from his leg sofly laying the cuff down on the bed as he begins to massage the soreness from his ankle.

With a deep breath he swung his legs over the side of the bed the cold coffee coloured wooden floorboards send a shock to his senses.

With deliberate care, he navigates around the perimeter of his bed, mindful not to disrupt the pristine circle of white sand he has meticulously arranged around his bed. Each step is taken with purpose as he surveys the sandy surface for any signs of disturbance. He feels a twinge of absurdity wash over him as he scans the area, noting that there are no footprints or even a grain out of place in the smooth expanse of the sand.

Despite this a fog of confusion lingers in his mind.He knows he isn’t sleepwalking surely he would have noticed by now there would have been evidence form of the restraint and the sand . Yet the source of his exhaustion remains a mystery to him casting a shadow over his thoughts he has yet to figure out the source of.

Finally, shaking off the lingering haze of his thoughts he steps onto the sand with intention. The grains shift beneath his foot leaving a clear footprint behind—a solitary mark in the otherwise untouched circle 

A stark reminder of his presence in the otherwise untouched circle.

He walked over to his door to check the bright blue Scotch tape he had placed over the opening the night before. Running his fingers down the tape, he looked for any signs of disturbance. Once he reached the end, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and a calmer expression settled on his face.

With a decisive motion, he peeled off the tape, crumpled it up, and tossed it into a nearby trash can already filled with similar little balls.

Now more awake, he realized it was time to start his day, so he headed to the bathroom on the other side of his apartment.  

In a flurry of motion, Steven brushed his teeth ,the minty paste swirling in his mouth like the jumbled thoughts racing through his mind . He locked eyes with his reflection on the mirror he notes how tired he looks recently it has been getting worser his eye bags under his eyes have getting bigger by tbe day.

He locked eyes with his reflection —an shattered figure staring back, with dark circles under his eyes and a furrow in his brows that spoke of sleepless nights and something dark he couldn't quite place it was hidden in the depths of his eyes he just couldn't identify what that darkness was.

Who was he, really? His fractured mind questioned. He felt like a ghost in his own body, in his own life.

He looked at the clock The clock on the far side of the wall read 7:30 AM.

He had to get to work. The gift shop at the museum awaited, a daily routine that felt both comforting and suffocating. 

He grabs his bag.

But before he leaves he walks over to the big bookcase in the middle of the room                    but the middle of it did not contain stacks of books but a huge fish tank illuminated by the fluorescent light all arounx it inside it held a single goldfish.

Steven grabs the tiny container of fish food that sat beside the fish tank. 

"Morning Gus ,my one finned wonder "

He says as he pours a couple specs of food into the tank while simultaneously softly tapping the goldfish tank to get Gus's attention from the vibrantly plastic Coral he was circling , to the food.

As he steps out into the street the cold morning Breeze shocks his system momentarily distracting him almost making him run into the man in front of him he takes a quick step back and begins to say 

"Hey mate , Still selling old brushes and brooms ... right in front of my entrance it's....."

 he says but the man just continues to stare at him with an expression that could only be described as detached and stolid at him like he doesn't understand the words coming out of Steven's mouth

 "no problem with it. Cheers"

He confidently tries to say but it comes out more Awkward than he originally wanted it to.

He navigated the bustling streets of London, the sounds of chatter and traffic swirling around him like a cacophony of life.

Yet, he felt disconnected, an observer rather than a participant. The world moved on without him, vibrant and chaotic, while he remained locked in his own thoughts.

Arriving at the museum, the atmosphere and his mood shifted. The grand halls were filled with the echoes of footsteps and the whispers of history. As he walked through the doors of the museum Steven felt a strange sense of belonging surrounded by artifacts that had survived the test of time he thought that if they had maybe he could too.

He hears the voice of the security guard calling out a name he doesn’t recognize “Oh hey, Scotty! How’s it going, man?”

Steven wearing a puzzled expression glances around as he heads toward the the security check point .There’s no one else in sight at the entrance. He briefly makes eye contact with the guard j.b. he rembers the guys name is. Steven seeking confirmation that he’s the one being addressed glances around . Once he gets the confirmation tha indeed he was talking to him he points to himself saying

“It’s Steven! You know with a v . you know ?"

Caught up in his confusion , he failed to notice the person in front of him until it was too late. He stumbled forward, nearly toppling into the stranger, who barely managed to stay upright. Embarrassment flooded Steven’s cheeks as he registered how attractive the other man was, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

Panic surged through him, a jumble of words tangled in his throat. He was already late, and a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him just how upset Donna is going be when she finally saw him. In a moment of sheer impulse, he turned away, hurriedly retreating without a single word of a apology. 

As he walked—or rather, ran—away, his self-consciousness gnawed at him , for his stupidity and awkwardness a lingering regret hanging in the air behind him as he retreated.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily toward 9:00 AM.

Each tick echoing in the quiet room filled with the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. Just a smidge of sunlight filters through the tall windows illuminating stacks of papers and the artifacts on display all around the room .

 Donna sits at a desk near the far corner her brow furrowed as she stares at the clock then at the door annoyance creeping into her features.

She taps her pen against her desk, a rhythmic beat of impatience “Where is he?” she mutters under her breath glancing at the growing pile of work on her desk.

Suddenly the door swings open with a flourish. Steven bursts in clearly flustered his shirt slightly wrinkled. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” he exclaims slightly out of breath and wide-eyed.

Donna straightens in her chair arms crossing tightly over her chest. “You’re late, Steven. Again” she says her tone a mix of exasperation and anger

 “What happened this time?” "huh" "fish ate your homework?" 

Steven stammers, trying to find the right words "its just one of those mornings so so sorry donna"

He replies as he runs a hand through his hair a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

Donna shakes her head

Donna leans back in her chair crossing her arms again. “One of those mornings? Every morning seems to be one of those for you.”

"I know i know ill try— wont happen again