BEEP BEEP BEEP I threw off the ratty covers I was entangled in and flung the alarm clock across the room. It smashed into tiny pieces. Grumbling, I slipped on my worn out blue slippers and trudged into the bathroom. My weary, purple face stared back at me. I splashed cold water into my eyes, but the picture stayed the same, like always. I sighed. Great, I thought. How will I get through today? My stomach grumbled, so I headed into the kitchen. I opened the door of an old, wooden cabinet. It fell off of its hinges. I swore under my breath. The apartment manager would surely not "approve" of this, as he usually said in his annoying, snippy voice. I grabbed an old box of cereal and poured the last of its contents into my gaping mouth. The door bell rang. I groaned. It had better not been the manager. I ran to my room, slipped on my trousers and collared white tee shirt and headed for the door.
A cheery post man with an annoyingly bright blue hat greeted me on my apartment step. He smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Arugula, he said in an overly high-pitched voice. I mumbled hello, scowling at his awful way of happiness. He handed me my mail and I shut the door in his face. I imagined the expression on his face now. I looked at the letters he handed me. Bills, flyers for maid services, eviction notice, Eviction notice? I dropped the bills and ads for Fifi's Cleaning Magic into the trash can and tore open the yellow envelope. My eyes scanned the note:
Addressed to Chowder. P. Arugula
You are hereby evicted by Marzipan Apartment Complex .You have not been paying your monthly room and board fee for a year now. Please pack your belongings and leave immediately. Drop off this paper with your signature at front desk. Free eviction cookie as well!
I tore the paper into tiny bits and threw them out the window. I sat down on the couch, my head in hands. I had been working full time at Marzipan Market for how long now? It hadn't been enough, I suppose. I would be homeless now, living on the streets. Well, that was one extreme. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed my suitcase and started shoving clothes into it. Suddenly, my hand brushed against something dusty in the back of my drawer. I pulled it out. It was a purple hat, too small for me now, covered in a thin film of dust. I sneezed. It had two points and was covered in lavender silk. Memories flooded my head, like some kind of dam had burst. It was my old hat, from when I was an apprentice to the "great" chef. Mung Daal. Ten years had passed since I had left. We had ended on a sour note. I wanted to leave when I was 17 and start my own business as a rookie chef, whereas he thought I was safer there, helping him with his small, not extremely successful catering company. He was my only hope right now. Would he be the one to shut the door in my pleading face? I packed the rest of my belongings, turned off the blaring TV, and went out the door, slamming it behind me.