Short Story - The Breakfast Place

Original with no editing.

“Uggggh... Again.” Joel groans, waking up.

The pillow is warm but covered in sweat. Next to him, the alarm from the phone was blaring with a catchy tune that he couldn't form the words correctly in his head.  The light from the windows was brighter than it should be.

He sat up, swinging my legs on the edge of the bed. My hand clasps my forehead.

“He doesn't remember drinking last night.” Head pounding. “I need to eat.”

He looked around the room after He silenced the phone. It's a standard setup. The bed facing away from the windows at the end is a dresser. The one-bedroom apartment was decent enough for a college kid to own. Thanks to Mom and Dad, it is a bit easier to afford. It helps not to be with the “Rabble,” as his father would say.

My head started to clear up slowly as he got dressed in his blue jeans and a simple black T-shirt. He checked my wallet for some cash that was sitting on the nightstand next to his phone. There was a twenty-dollar bill. “Nice.” He’s always tight on money at the end of the month. As he moves to the door, he grabs his jacket from the chair and slings it around to put it on.

He steps outside, and a chilly breeze flows through the doorway. He wraps himself tighter in response. The diner is a few blocks from his place. He should arrive without getting too cold.

The leaves from the tree are already becoming scarce as the sky grows grey with each passing day. Joel hated winter. It reminded him of happier times with her, even though she left him high and dry at the beginning of that summer.

The walk was the same as the previous morning, with various cars parked on the street and the sidewalk covered in shades of autumn-colored leaves. There was a beggar at the end of this block, quiet at first but always mumbling something as Joel passed him. He never paid much attention to it.

Finally, the diner walks in the door of Tony’s Breakfast Place. A shabby food spot that adds too much butter and oil to their food, but a great hangover spot. He finds a seat at the closest open booth and begins perusing the menu.

Two people approach the table. His usual waitress, Rebecca. She was a soft-eyed, older woman with black hair, wearing a black, long-sleeved top with blue jeans and comfortable shoes. Next to her, Joel couldn’t stop staring. A beautiful woman with chestnut brown hair, green dazzling eyes, and a smile like no other.

He didn’t pay attention to what she was wearing.

“ What can I get you to drink?” Jessica starts off.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee and a water.” He responds, unable to look away.

“She is my new trainee, this is Kim.” Jessica teased.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Kim says bashfully.

“It’s a pleasure.” He says with a grin.

“Are you going to order or gawk at her? Jessica shakes her head.

“ Oh, right. He looks back at the menu blushing, Kim giggles a bit.

“ Can I get a pancake with....”

At that moment, a loud screech from outside the restaurant happens, followed by the sounds of broken glass. Joel cannot see anything but feels a searing pain throughout his body. Everything begins to fade, noises become muted; the light he was able to see fades to black. The pain is gone.

A phone alarm begins to blare.

After AI proofreading and story flow suggestions:

“Uggggh... again.” Joel groaned, peeling himself from the pillow.

It was warm, damp with sweat. His phone alarm drilled into his skull, some catchy tune he couldn’t piece into words. The light stabbing through the blinds felt harsher than morning should allow.

He sat up, legs dangling over the bed, one hand pressed hard against his forehead.

He doesn’t remember drinking last night. His skull throbbed. I need food. Grease. Coffee.

After silencing the alarm, he scanned the room. Same setup: bed against the far wall, a dresser opposite. Nothing special. The one-bedroom was decent enough for a college kid—only manageable thanks to Mom and Dad. His father always called it “keeping him out of the rabble.”

As his head began to clear, Joel yanked on blue jeans and a black T-shirt. He checked his wallet on the nightstand—beside his phone, a twenty-dollar bill peeked out.

“Nice,” he muttered. That’ll stretch two meals if I don’t tip too much. Sorry, Rebecca.

Before heading out, he grabbed the worn leather jacket draped over his chair and slipped it on. The lining was thin, but better than nothing.

When he stepped outside, a knife of cold air cut through the doorway, making him clutch the jacket tighter. The diner was only a few blocks away. He could make it without freezing.

The streets were familiar: cars parked bumper to bumper, sidewalks scattered with brittle leaves, the trees already bare against a gray sky. Winter pressed in early, and Joel hated it. Winter meant memories—her laugh, her warmth—and how quickly both had vanished at the start of summer.

At the corner, the same beggar mumbled into his lap. Joel kept walking. He never caught the words, and he didn’t care to.

Tony’s Breakfast Place smelled like burnt toast, bacon grease, and old coffee. Shabby, sure—but perfect for a hangover. Joel slid into a booth near the window and grabbed a menu, though he already knew what he’d order.

Two women approached. Jessica, his usual waitress—soft-eyed, older, dressed in her usual black top and jeans—smiled with practiced warmth. But Joel barely registered her.

Beside her stood someone new.

Chestnut hair, green eyes too bright for this greasy joint, and a smile that hit him like a bruise. Whatever she wore didn’t matter—she was all light in a place built on shadows.

“What can I get you to drink?” Jessica asked.

“Coffee. And water,” Joel said, unable to look away.

Jessica smirked. “This is my new trainee, Kim.”

Kim blushed. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Joel said with a grin he hadn’t felt in months.

“Are you going to order, or just gawk?” Jessica teased.

Joel snapped back to the menu, heat creeping up his neck. Kim giggled softly.

“Can I get the pancakes with—”

The screech split the air before he could finish. Tires clawing asphalt. Shattering glass.

Joel’s body lit up in white-hot pain. His vision warped, sound collapsing into a single shrill note. The copper taste of blood flooded his mouth.

The diner, the voices, the light—all folded into black.

Silence.

Then, from nowhere, a phone alarm began to blare.