It was in the morning that John's day began. His story, however, begins shortly after midday, because everything before this point was painfully uneventful. If it had just been one uneventful morning, John may have escaped the following descriptors, yet as it was, it was not just this morning that was painfully uneventful. It was, in fact, his entire life.
Now, John was not a zombie. Nor was he listening to his iPod Nano while drinking lemonade. He also liked to think that he did not have The Cholera, but he wasn't entirely certain over just what that entailed - besides the intense schizophrenia. No, John was a text book example of the rare personality dysfunction known as being utterly boring. This had developed to such an extent that John possessed an intense fear of anything even slightly interesting, and the details of his life followed this to the letter. While this would be the most suitable time to describe these details, the sheer monotony of their very existence drives any author to tears before they can finish transcribing them. Thus, it remains safer for us all without knowing the exact details of John's 'life' before this point.
As it was, on this particular afternoon John would encounter something in particular that would forever change his life. It should be noted that this feat was not decisively hard to pull off - an excessively coloured napkin could have achieved the same effect. However, the event in itself happened to be so aggressively interesting to even an averagely monotonous person that they could not escape a detailed account.
And so the events began, rather interestingly, with the appearance of a waffle.
As it happens, John had never seen a waffle, nor had he ever eaten one. On the other hand, this could be attributed to the fact that he did not own a waffle iron - clearly a crime against nature. John tilted his head slightly in thought of how such a beast would be in his living room, but soon the mundanity of it all came rushing back to him like a bad metaphor.
John shook his head and strode into the kitchen - it wasn't so much 'striding' as it was a mediocre sort of walk, something so bland and borish that this author would not bother regailing you with the minute details of its unimpressiveness. Opening his refrigerator, John glanced in and pulled out a bottle of water. He took a large drink of it and placed it back in the fridge, drawing a line at the precise water level as he always did with a permanent marker.
He turned around and againcaught a glance of the gleaming, obtrusive waffle, almost mocking him with its very existence from within the living room. It sat cold (at least he assumed) on the coffee table, right next to his favourite copy of The Scarlet Letter. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. This would be otherwise referred to as a 'sigh', but as the situation was, his exhalation was so weak and uninteresting that it ended up more of a 'puh' then a 'sigh'.
He turned back to his kitchen and made his way to the cabinet, grabbing a box of gratuitiously unappetizing bran flakes. John poured himself a bowl, passed over to the refrigerator, opened it and reached inside, feeling around in the usual spot. He did not, however, find his bottle of milk. His eyes widened slightly and he leaned forward to be absolutely sure.
He peered in the icebox and there it was; no milk. A small bead of sweat rolled down from his forehead to his cheek as he shut the door. John leaned up and checked the calendar on the door of the machine. He blinked at it uncomprehendingly. It was currently the 14th. The grocery day was always on the 15th of every month. I always have milk until grocery day, he thought forcefully, as if reciting the fact would rectify all that was currently wrong in his universe. He slowly placed his bowl of unmilked cereal on the otherwise empty counter - the bowl being the only thing out at the time. John's kitchen was beautiful to the unitiated as it seemed almost perfectly spotless. It was only upon closer inspection that one could see a fine layer of dust across all the counters, as well as most of the cabinets. John may have a lovely clean kitchen, but this was only due to non-useage. Most of the space in there was just that to him, space, and filling that space would encroach on his personal sense of saftey. As John always said, an empty house was a safe house.
John went back to his living room and sat himself down at the couch. The waffle was still staring at him defiantly, almost demanding his attention. He closed his eyes again and for the first time in his life, John made a spontaneous decision. The thought of it was almost heart palpitating, but as it needed to be done, it needed to be done. John slowly put his shoes on - generic brown hushpuppies to be precise, not that there was any need to be.
Defying the safety of his daily routine, John stepped out onto his front porch. He look outside at the amazing skyline, and took a deep breath.
"It's time to go shopping..."