Flash Fiction – shot number one.

            Ferdinand woke up and looked at the clock – 5:00am flashed in neon in the pitch-black room. He began his normal routine: shower, get dressed, make coffee, and leave. In the middle of buttoning his shirt he realized he had nowhere to go and no one to see. Too much had happened too quickly, and it was just starting to settle in. He had on his boxers, socks, and dress shirt halfway buttoned. He strolled to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, grabbed all the ingredients he could hold and began to cook. Ferdinand made the most extravagant, yet unhealthy breakfast he had ever seen. And for once, he was proud. Proud of what he had accomplished, proud of what was in front of him. And he did it all by himself; single and unemployed. 


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