Read Online Atlas (The Atlas Series) by Becca C. Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becca C. Smith
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and start the car. He was a gentlemen through and through and would never think about leaving the parking lot without knowing for sure that Kala made it away safely. Kala backed out of her space. She waved to Jack. He waved back, then pulled out and left right behind her.
Kala didn’t turn on her radio for fear of seeing its digital clock and the dreaded countdown she couldn’t stop hallucinating. All her thoughts were focused on getting home and sleeping this whole thing off.
After an hour of annoying traffic, Kala finally pulled into her apartment building’s garage. She had to squeeze her car into its spot because her obnoxious neighbors never could seem to park inside the lines. Kala didn’t care today. She just exited her car and took the elevator up to the fourth floor of her building. Being only four floors, Kala liked the fact that her apartment was on top. It gave her a view of the city, which was rare for a cheap apartment complex like hers.
Kala entered her one-bedroom apartment and tried to shake off the last 24 hours of her life. She wanted to sleep away the rest of the day, but she hated wasting time. As much as people rationalized that “people need their rest” or “there’s such a thing as relaxing” Kala just didn’t feel that way. If she didn’t accomplish at least two or three things a day, she felt that the day was completely wasted.
Kala laughed to herself. No wonder why she had delusions of grandeur when she’d passed out. Her overblown need to accomplish things made her create the ultimate job: saving the world every four days. How very prophetic.
At that point Kala couldn’t keep it in anymore, and she started to laugh out loud. It felt good, relieving. The more she thought about it, the better she felt. It was like when you first wake up from a dream that you’re positive would make an amazing blockbuster movie, but after a few minutes of really thinking about it, the whole thing falls apart at the seams. It doesn’t make sense anymore and for the life of you, you can’t seem to fathom how you ever thought it was a good story to begin with.
Kala decided to fight against her need to do something productive today and try to relax. Besides, drinking water and flushing out whatever it was in her system that was causing her to hallucinate a countdown on every clock she saw seemed like a good idea. She wondered when Derek would call and let her know what the heck she had ingested at that bar.
Heaving a huge sigh of disgust at the state of her apartment, Kala kicked her way through dirty laundry strewn all over the floor and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t have far to go, of course, since the apartment itself was small, miniscule really, with the bedroom off to the left only about two-hundred square feet and the living room/kitchen hardly larger. It was basically two box-sized rooms. Kala owned little furniture to speak of. In the center of the living room was an old plushy green armchair that looked as if she had rescued it from a dumpster. Across from the chair was a large wooden crate, which held up a the thirty-six inch flat screen TV that was the only source of entertainment for Kala.
It took her all of two seconds to reach the kitchen and Kala wanted to walk away instantly from the dirty dishes in the sink. She was pretty sure that every dish she owned was stacked in the sink, a food-covered mound of ceramic crud. She thanked her lucky stars it was winter, otherwise she’d most likely be sharing her kitchen with a few million ants. Grabbing a large bottle of water, Kala fled the offensive sight of her kitchen and plopped down on the most comfy chair imaginable. She’d had the chair for years, Owen and Linda having bought it for her when she moved into her first apartment. It was a little used and worn even back then, but now it was completely formed to Kala’s body, making it the world’s most perfect chair.
Taking the remote off the crate, Kala turned on the
Kala didn’t turn on her radio for fear of seeing its digital clock and the dreaded countdown she couldn’t stop hallucinating. All her thoughts were focused on getting home and sleeping this whole thing off.
After an hour of annoying traffic, Kala finally pulled into her apartment building’s garage. She had to squeeze her car into its spot because her obnoxious neighbors never could seem to park inside the lines. Kala didn’t care today. She just exited her car and took the elevator up to the fourth floor of her building. Being only four floors, Kala liked the fact that her apartment was on top. It gave her a view of the city, which was rare for a cheap apartment complex like hers.
Kala entered her one-bedroom apartment and tried to shake off the last 24 hours of her life. She wanted to sleep away the rest of the day, but she hated wasting time. As much as people rationalized that “people need their rest” or “there’s such a thing as relaxing” Kala just didn’t feel that way. If she didn’t accomplish at least two or three things a day, she felt that the day was completely wasted.
Kala laughed to herself. No wonder why she had delusions of grandeur when she’d passed out. Her overblown need to accomplish things made her create the ultimate job: saving the world every four days. How very prophetic.
At that point Kala couldn’t keep it in anymore, and she started to laugh out loud. It felt good, relieving. The more she thought about it, the better she felt. It was like when you first wake up from a dream that you’re positive would make an amazing blockbuster movie, but after a few minutes of really thinking about it, the whole thing falls apart at the seams. It doesn’t make sense anymore and for the life of you, you can’t seem to fathom how you ever thought it was a good story to begin with.
Kala decided to fight against her need to do something productive today and try to relax. Besides, drinking water and flushing out whatever it was in her system that was causing her to hallucinate a countdown on every clock she saw seemed like a good idea. She wondered when Derek would call and let her know what the heck she had ingested at that bar.
Heaving a huge sigh of disgust at the state of her apartment, Kala kicked her way through dirty laundry strewn all over the floor and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t have far to go, of course, since the apartment itself was small, miniscule really, with the bedroom off to the left only about two-hundred square feet and the living room/kitchen hardly larger. It was basically two box-sized rooms. Kala owned little furniture to speak of. In the center of the living room was an old plushy green armchair that looked as if she had rescued it from a dumpster. Across from the chair was a large wooden crate, which held up a the thirty-six inch flat screen TV that was the only source of entertainment for Kala.
It took her all of two seconds to reach the kitchen and Kala wanted to walk away instantly from the dirty dishes in the sink. She was pretty sure that every dish she owned was stacked in the sink, a food-covered mound of ceramic crud. She thanked her lucky stars it was winter, otherwise she’d most likely be sharing her kitchen with a few million ants. Grabbing a large bottle of water, Kala fled the offensive sight of her kitchen and plopped down on the most comfy chair imaginable. She’d had the chair for years, Owen and Linda having bought it for her when she moved into her first apartment. It was a little used and worn even back then, but now it was completely formed to Kala’s body, making it the world’s most perfect chair.
Taking the remote off the crate, Kala turned on the
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