The Saviour called Devil
The alarm blared and I woke up startled. My ears were ringing and my eyes were blurry. The time 7.30am. I had to get to the station at 8. Thirty minutes to get changed, eat breakfast and travel to the station. Walking there will take twenty minutes, leaving me ten minutes to get ready. Not enough time, I will probably arrive late(which is not good on my first day). If I cycle there, I can get to the station in ten minutes, road works and general traffic, add five minutes; leaving me fifteen minutes to get ready. I dragged myself into some decent clothes, stuffed a piece of bread,which was very likely mouldy, into my mouth and chugged last night's coffee(my own twist on iced coffee). Before looking out of the door, I glanced at the tall, weak frame in the mirror. My black hair was rough and uncombed, my brown eyes were red and tired, my clothes were a size too big and were dragging me down. Choking on my breakfast, I ran out my apartment and slid down several flights of stairs, nearly knocking out a delivery man juggling a dozen parcels. 'I sincerely apologise, and next time it will be more efficient to carry two parcels weighing a total of 3kg consecutively up the stairs!' I shouted. I grabbed my battered bike from under the stairs and headed out of the foyer.
I scanned the roads. Weather; slightly cloudy, with hints of sunshine. Roads; minimal, highly unlikely of traffic, no sounds of roadworks. I took a deep breath of dusty air, positioned my feet onto the pedals, and pushed onwards at a speed of 5mph. CLANK! I calculated everything, but the one thing I did not calculate, was whether my cycle was in functional condition. I dropped my cycle and ran. All my calculations were all for nothing. I ran, ran faster than I ever did; but then I stopped, panting for air. I had not even run fifty meters. My body told me to stop... and my mind also told me to stop. A minute later I gained half of my oxygen debt and kept on going; even though it was at a snail's pace.
After battling foot traffic, pavement works and rainwater splashed by the passing cars; I finally arrived at the station. I looked up and read the half-hung sign board 'Division 13: Police Station'. Flyers of all sorts were circling around the front entrance. The red-brick walls were grayed by the products of combustion. I did not feel like I was entering the building that situated my new place of work, but rather a building that was soon going to be demolished(maybe even fall apart on its own- highyly likely). Nevertheless, a small smile creeped along my face and I opened the creaking doors and stepped into the station.