Every morning begins the same way.
The alarm rings at exactly 6:30 a.m. A soft, irritating sound that somehow manages to feel louder every day. I reach over, turn it off, and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Sometimes I wonder if those few seconds matter.
If I got up immediately instead of lying there, would something change? Would the day unfold differently?
Probably not.
Most days are painfully predictable.
I brush my teeth. I take a shower. I make coffee. Black, no sugar. The smell fills the small apartment, spreading through the quiet rooms like a routine I've repeated too many times to count.
The coffee always tastes the same.
Or at least I think it does.
I sit by the window while drinking it. The street below is already alive with people moving to places that seem important to them. Cars pass. Someone argues on the phone. A dog barks somewhere far away.
Normal sounds.
Normal morning.
Yet something about it always feels… slightly wrong.
Not in a dramatic way. Nothing that would make someone stop and panic. Just a faint feeling, like trying to remember a dream that disappears the moment you reach for it.
A small detail that doesn't fit.
But I can never figure out what it is.
Maybe it's the people.
I watch them sometimes. The same man in a gray coat passes the street corner every morning. He walks quickly, like he's always late.
I think I've seen him before.
Yesterday… or maybe last week.
Actually, I'm not sure.
For a moment I try to remember the exact day I first noticed him.
Monday?
No… maybe Wednesday.
Or maybe today is Wednesday.
I pause.
That thought lingers longer than it should.
I check my phone.
Tuesday.
Right.
Of course it is.
I don't know why I hesitated.
It's a simple thing to forget, but it leaves a strange feeling behind. Like my brain skipped a step somewhere and quietly tried to hide it.
I shake my head and finish the coffee.
Maybe I'm just tired.
Everyone forgets small things sometimes.
Keys. Names. Days of the week.
Nothing unusual about that.
Still… something about the morning feels different.
I look outside again.
The man in the gray coat is still there, walking down the street.
For a brief moment, I feel certain I've already watched him walk past the building today.
But that's impossible.
I just woke up.
Right?
I stare at the street, trying to remember.
After a while I stop trying.
Some thoughts aren't worth chasing.
They only lead in circles.
And circles never really go anywhere.
AFTERWORD
So i recently finished reading the novel of American Psycho....and am going to be honest it is one of the best stories i have ever read[altho it is very slow].....the idea of the story..being told by the MC and it happening in his head really intrigued me so i was very exicited to start another series...but my main problem is am not getting long stories....like i only it planned for around 20-25 chapters...so am worried about that because....only Night of the Living Dead is the only Novel [so far] to reach more than 50 chapters [63 preciously]....and dont worry am pretty sure Tale of Tales will be longer than it....at the moment i hope for it to be around 500 chapters with 3 seasons....but lets see...any way thank you for reading my rant so for...and i hope you do enjoy my story.....and i give you guys what you like....am really happy that people are reading my stories....with Night of the Living Dead getting 45K views am very happy.....anyway sit back and enjoy this story of a man's mind descent into ultimate madness...Thank you to my Friend/Editor SDK who was the first person to read my novel and gave me the courage to publish it....
Thank You
BHARATH_SHYAM