Assem Akram - The '1492' Conspiracy

I had not slept well and woke up early in the morning. For one, it’s always difficult to sleep well in a new bed due to the orientation, the bedding itself, and – believe it or not – the smell of the sheets; and two, perhaps influenced by what I had witnessed lastly with my share of tragic occurrences, I had nightmares involving members of my family whose deaths I was witnessing without being able to act or even move.

It was raining outside and, because of the early hour, the street below Ava’s apartment was deserted; it felt like a winter Sunday morning in London, rather gloomy. I decided that it would be nice to prepare breakfast. I found my way around her kitchen and set up the table, but didn’t start to make the scrambled eggs or toast the bread because I thought that, by the time she would wake up, they would be cold. I checked outside her door, looking for a newspaper, but I was out of luck. Since I hadn’t slept very well, I was not in the mood for a book. After browsing once again over the pictures of Ava’s ancestors, I sank into the sofa and turned on the TV.