The Title That Shall Be Changed. Eventually.
an excerpt

It was Far Too Early Saturday morning (read: about ten forty five) and Lindsay was doing her best to take full advantage of her weekly sleep-in day. Unfortunately, the blinds weren’t drawn, so the sun was making its presence known. Lindsay, in her half-conscious state, managed to vanquish this foe with the cunning rolling over and facing the wall tactic. Also attempting to destroy her morning was her neighbor, who fancied himself a carpenter. This particular morning he was using a buzz saw. Making good use of her sharp selective hearing, Lindsay had finally managed to be able to ignore it entirely—until it shut off. It was then that she heard the muffled thud and the less muffled “ow!”

These were not normal morning noises, especially when coming from her own room. Lindsay bolted upright in bed. Standing over her was a tall figure, silhouetted by the sun.

Lindsay screamed, stumbled backwards, and fell off the other side of the bed. The man screamed, stumbled backward, and fell out of the window.

CRASH! “AHHHHHHHH!” scrunch “Ouch! Wooooaaaaaah!” THUD.

Silence.

Cautiously, Lindsay peeked over the bed. The screen in her window was missing, as were several shingles on roof overhang outside. The buzz saw had started up again, and the morning again seemed perfectly normal. Linsday pulled her long blonde hair out of her face and went to peer out of the window. A story beneath her, there was an unconscious man in her garden.

***

“Um, excuse me?”

“Hmm?”

“I seem to be tied to a chair.”

“Mmmm.” Lindsay tossed her ponytail with practiced ease and cracked three eggs into a pan. “Imagine that.”

“Huh, and it’s funny: I also seem to have an unbelievable headache.”

“All I’ve got is Midol, but it should help anyway.” Lindsay walked over to the kitchen table and lay two pills and a glass of water on it, then went back to the stove to mix her eggs.

“Hmm.” The man nodded his throbbing head, as though pondering something. “You know, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this already or not, but, um… I seem to be tied to a chair.”

“Oh, hold your horses and stop whining. I don’t want my eggs to burn.” Lindsay seemed completely disinterested in his existence, and the fact that he had a large red swelling on his head.

There was a lull, filled only with the sound and smell of the eggs.

“Smells good,” the intruder volunteered. “You seem like quite the cook.”

“Shut up,” Lindsay suggested.

“Right.”