Left to my own devices, pt 1

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Cecil woke up feeling weakened by the prospect of imminent danger. It felt to him like an alarum blaring at the back of his head, jolted by that fear, cutting his well-earned rest short. It is the end of some roads for him, and the decision to condition his frail mind and body to accept that surrender somehow made his inconsistent mood already shaken with turmoil. He rose from the bed to grab his breakfast and devoted some time to gathering his temples to no avail. It was apparent that today, of all days, was to be a breakthrough when it came to his prevailing senses. He wants to start all over again.

He had concocted a plan weeks prior to change things, and now the timeframe is shrinking fast and loose, the newfound vibrato coming ever so slowly, lips quiver, anxious. His room still smells of grime and dirty laundry. Anger starts to fuel him. Anger empowers his soul. The more the situation relies upon extreme luck and happenstance, the more he finds himself preoccupied with the notion that everything eventually falls apart.

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