4.
I got home just after 10; the washing machine had just finished tumbling as I walked through the door. An ominous beep echoed throughout the dark void in my flat.
Beep.
I never did like a lot of furniture. I ventured through the darkness, avoiding the small breakfast table on the right. I could see the faint silhouette of a plate and glass on the table.
Beep.
I must've forgot to put them away after lunch today. Odd, I normally put them straight in the sink. Must have been that call from Hope that distracted me.
Beeeep.
I continued to the laundry room, making sure not to knock over the vase Serah had bought me last summer. She came round one morning, unannounced, carrying a large wrapped box. I wasn't too fond of the vase. It made the flat feel cluttered. But I wasn't the type to reject a gift.
Beeeeep.
I stood there for a moment, trying to make out the shape of the vase in the darkness. I suddenly noticed something was missing, though I wasn't quite sure what. Something that was here just a moment ago was now gone. Oddly, the air grew heavier despite it's absence.
Silence.
The machine had stopped its beeping.
Silence.
Standing in the midst of darkness, the dark air weighing a ton on my shoulders, I asked myself: 'but what if they don't make touchscreens for cats?'