Here's the thing about time; it’s viewed as the enemy. There’s always either too much time on one's hands or not enough. Life is short. Humans on average only get around 80 years to fulfill their purpose, and for a third of that time, we’re not even conscious. I look back on 27 years of my life, evaporated, me getting older by the minute. Then, I note the amount of time it’s taking the water to boil. Perhaps, merely a few minutes have passed, yet every grueling second is being drawn out, time stretched to its limits as though refusing to obey the constraints humans put on it. The saying, “a watched pot never boils” proving true. Most think of time as the enemy, but in this moment, time is my best friend.

Every second I spend locked in, aimlessly waiting for the water to boil, is an extra second I can experience life. In the background, faint sirens grow nearer. Rather than unhinging, however, a strange calm washes over me. Maybe it’s the knowledge that my work is done, regardless of consequences. I know I deserve the hell coming for me. More likely, it’s the Xanax finally reaching my brain. The kettle screeches and startles me back to earth. I lift it towards my “Best Sister” mug, ready with a tea bag, the writing worn out after years of use, now traced over with a sharpie to keep it’s message. The boiling water makes contact with the tea bag, fragrant chamomile steam hitting my nose. The sirens are now deafening; they’ve surrounded the house.

Mug in hand, I walk over broken furniture to the nearest window, peeking through the now red drapes. Men, and one woman in blue huddle together, scheming. For a moment, all is quiet. The calm before the storm. An officer, the woman, looks up and our eyes lock. She holds the stare, her eyes wavering only once. They hold an unidentified emotion, almost respect. The change lasted less than a second before the steel mask returned. The others had seen me. I sip my tea in response. 

Outside, a man talks through a megaphone, yelling at me to cooperate and step outside. Firearms aimed at me in case things go south. I take another sip. If they want me, they can come and get me, no use making their job easier. 

Stepping over the lifeless body, I move to sit at the coffee table, awaiting my destiny.