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Monday Morning
Name: Monday Morning
Series: Hearts of Hallowan
Written by: LostInRiverview
Release date: March 13, 2011

Previous chapter: Pilot
Next chapter: Bad News

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Monday Morning - Episode 1.02
1.01 - Pilot | 1.03 - Bad News


An unshaven man sat up in his bed and fumbled with his alarm clock, finally getting the incessant thing to stop sounding in his ear. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, then peered at his alarm clock... but what was the point? After all, there was no reason at all to continue living, what with all that had happened.

The man stood up slowly and stumbled, his head now throbbing from bloodrush. The remnants of last night were thrown around the room- two empty bottles on the bed, a half-full bottle of some unknown spirit on the bedside table, and three empty bottles and a puddle of vomit on the floor. But the man didn't care about this, as he moved towards his dresser and mirror. He looked at his face in the mirror in disgust- his eyes were bloodshot with dark bags underneath, his hair messy and greasy, his shirt stained and torn.

The man knew that he had to carry on, so he showered and shaved and dressed for work. His head continued to bother him, and he still felt a bit buzzed from the night before. He didn't care though, as he took a long gulp from a bottle in the kitchen before digging through a nearly-empty fridge for food. He pulled out a bowl of leftovers and pulled off the cover to see disgusting mold, and he quickly tossed the bowl towards the garbage can in disgust. The bowl missed badly, and landed and broke open on a pile of papers on the counter near the can. The man yelled an expletive, threw his bottle at the wall and kicked his refrigerator door in rage, leaving a massive dent in the door.

He was crying to himself as he walked out to his car. A rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance... "Great... just great," he said as he threw his briefcase in the backseat of his car. "Oh, and where are my keys!?" The man yelled again as he stormed into the house. He tore into the kitchen and overturned the mountains of paperwork littering the dining room table, searching for his keys. He moved to the living room, where the cushions for the couch already laid on the ground; he put his hand in the couch but only found a beer bottle. He moved upstairs to the bedroom again, overturning his sheets, then moving to the jeans he had worn the night before, laying at the top of a large heap of dirty laundry. He dug frantically through the pockets until finding the lost keys. The doorbell rang. "GO AWAY!" the man yelled, though he was sure the visitor would not be able to hear him.

As he walked down the stairs, he silently cursed the chain of events that had brought him to that day. He opened the door to see a thirty-something businessman. "What?!" the man asked of the visitor.

"Mr. Kemne?" The visitor asked.

"Yeah?" Mr. Kemne replied rudely.

"You are currently delinquent in your loan payments with the First Bank of Hallowan. The bank has contacted you a numb—"

"Get to the point, you pinhead!"

"Sir, please don't take that tone with me. If you'd actually pay your bills once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. You have 14 days to provide payment, or we will sue for repossession of assets." The man handed Mr. Kemne an envelope, "This is your final notice of payment. Go ahead and throw it where you put the rest of your overdue bills, you slob." The businessman, with a look of bitter disgust, forced the notice into Mr. Kemne's hands and stepped off the front steps of the house before Mr. Kemne could angrily slam the door.

"You think you're better than me! Get off my property!" Mr. Kemne yelled as the businessman stepped into his car, slammed the door and reversed out of the driveway. "Fat cat.... greedy son of a..." Mr. Kemne muttered as he threw the notice onto one of the few clear spots on his kitchen counter. He reached for a bottle, and spotted one nearly empty. With one gulp, he finished the bottle, slammed it onto the counter, grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

Mr. Kemne turned the key into the ignition of his car. With some persuasion, the car started but it made a loud sound, as if it was in need of a serious tune-up. Mr. Kemne looked at the clock on his radio- 8:58 am- and panicked as he was running late for work. He floored it down his street then around the corner, not bothering to stop at the stop sign. Then, his phone began to chirp. He reached over to the passenger seat where his jacket sat and picked up his phone. He took one look at the number that came up on the screen, and answered.


BOOM! The phone flew out of his hand just as something large hit the windshield, leaving a crack. Whatever had hit the car was thrown up into the air as Mr. Kemne slammed on the brakes, making a horrible screeching sound. He looked at what appeared to be a girl and a bicycle laying on the ground, then looked behind him - he had driven straight through a stop sign. He sobbed for a second, then put his foot on the gas pedal and tore down the street, away from the scene as raindrops began to fall.