A New Beginning

Following in the mold of the play-a-day project I did, I decided to start something similar with prose (and also other forms of writing occasionally). It won't be as ambitious or strict as the play-a-day, as I'm not setting out to write something every day, but I'm aiming on writing at least a few things a week, so we'll see how it ends up turning out. But anyways, I'll post random small bits of prose, (very) short stories, and hopefully even some larger stories (probably in multiple parts), and as I said, sometimes some non-prose writing too. I'm not really sure what I'm planning to do with this exactly, but it's been too long since I was consistently writing much, so we'll see what it ends up turning into. Also, I'm guessing that the things I post here will probably tend to be much more just fragments than the scenes in my play-a-day, so they probably won't be as complete and self-contained in general (or at least that's what I'm guessing now--we'll see how it ends up turning out). Anyways, without further delay, here's the first story (or at least the beginning of one):

Sunday Morning Message

===== It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, the neon-red glow gradually forming the distinct lines of the numbers on my clock: 8:02am. My head felt like a freshly shaken snow globe, and I buried my face back into the softness of my pillow while I waited for all the debris to settle down. I must have had a weird dream; a strange sensation lingered in my head from it, but I couldn’t identify its source. Usually I at least can remember fragments, as nonsensical as they often are, but this time no matter how much I thought about it, all that remained was a blank canvas.
=====I was so caught up in trying to remember more than just the faint impression I had of my dream that I didn’t notice I was alone in the bed for a several minutes—or, maybe I noticed, but it didn’t strike me as odd yet. When I noticed, I figured Lisa must have gone in to work early. But it was a Sunday…
=====I got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. There was no sign of her. I was too tired to really think much of anything yet though, so I decided to make myself some coffee. As I waited for it to finish brewing, I leaned onto the counter and stared off. I could see through the window that it either was raining already or would be soon, the clouds had that ominous look of anticipation they always do before a storm. If I squinted I thought I could see small drops of rain falling outside, but I couldn’t tell if they were really there or if it just looked that way because I was expecting them to be.
=====The coffee finished and I poured it into a deep-crimson colored porcelain cup. I took the carton of milk out of the fridge and swished it around to feel how much was left, then poured the small amount that remained into the cup too. After I threw the carton away and made a mental note to stop by the supermarket later to get some more, I turned back to the fridge, and this time I noticed the yellow post-it that was stuck right at eye-level on the door to it. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it earlier—especially when I got the milk from inside—then walked closer so I could read it. It was Lisa’s writing, with that rushed-but-somehow-neat look to it, all the letters blending together but somehow still distinct and perfectly legible. The note bore a brief message: I’m leaving you. I’m really sorry. –Lisa.
=====The note could not have been more clear, but still I stood there staring at it for at least a minute. I couldn’t comprehend it, it didn’t make sense. She hadn’t said anything even hinting she was thinking of leaving me, and everything had been perfectly normal between us lately. Nothing was any different from how it had always been—but I guess it had to be, there was no mistaking what the note said.