I pushed the door closed and shuffled back into the living room. Noting the low murmur emanating from the black outline on my recliner, I gracelessly sidled past along the length of the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, which creaked and squeaked in protest. Shilah--surely the preferable guest to its weathered old frame--had (grudgingly) relocated to the couch's more favorable neighbor. Sleep had suddenly become elusive, so she watched my haggard frame with a nefarious stare (as cats are wont to do). I propped my foot against the bottom of the chair and began to gently rock it back and forth; her eyes fluttered closed; her muted purr began to crescendo, and sleep appeared attainable once again.
Outside, millions of silvery flakes fluttered from the heavens and immediately perished once upon the damp landscape. The window rattled with an errant gust; the flakes swirled spasmodically with the outburst, then returned to their graceful suicide.
Melody said that she had to leave; she said that she hadn't packed in a manner that was mindful of the possibility of snow, and so, with a wave of her arm, off she went into the flurry, leaving behind a frazzled zombie and his lethargic cat.
"Remember, I'm your friend... okay? I'll be back soon," she said as she pulled the hood of her jacked over her head. "I'll bring some food for your kitty cat, too."
I have so many questions; they flutter in my skull, swirling spasmodically, rattling my psyche with each errant thought. Yet, one particular statement she had made while perusing my laptop lingers in my mind; I glanced down at the glowing screen hovering above the edge of the table--curious, but apprehensive.
"Hey...uh, I was going to check if your internet worked on the off chance that it did--it doesn't by the way--but, uh, did you know you have, like, a whole bunch of emails from somebody named Wesley Neumann? It doesn't look like you've read any of them."