Leanard was about to ask the badge whether it meant that 'Monday' was the name of the man or did it just mean that the current day of passing was Monday.
'Uh, excuse me' he began, but the man was already busily hurrying along to his destination.
Leanard composed himself.
Today, was Monday It was one 30 in the afternoon, and everything seemed rather acceptable. He reconsidered. The sky was upside down, but that's almost natural in autumn.
Next step required a more calculated approach: Where was he.
Burrowing his eyebrow into his nose, Leanard began the hard road to find out what actually has been happening around him for the good part of a week. Reasoned thought had a hard time recognising itself within the confines of a wine induced haze. after a few more reasoned calculations he realised that the sky was not upside down and it wasn't autumn.
A cup of coffee sat innocently on the table. Next to it was a few pills and a letter.
Leanard considered his position.
Things were beginning to painfully fall into place.
He was in his apartment.
The letter was addressed to him.
And the pills may just be the anti-psychotics he kept just in case of an emergent episode.
He blinked a couple of times to be sure that reality was not going to melt away again.
After drinking down the cold black coffee, Leanard took a small tour of his somewhat large apartment.
Empty wine bottles littered the whole place. His walls were still the colours of wallpaper and paper full of notes still whisked around in the breeze from the open window.
Monday.
It was Monday.
2 thirty.
He was sane.
Just as that last thought crossed his mind, Leanard became acutely aware of the armchair bolted to the ceiling.
More coffee.
Not only was the armchair bolted to the ceiling, but half the things in his apartment were too. And everything else was upside down. Creating a very convincing illusion that he was everything but sane.
'How much is the difference between too much, and not enough?' - a female voice smooth with the curves of trigonometry echoed through Leanards head.
He recognised the voice at once, although never having heard it before.
'If I told you, it wouldn't make any difference anyway' the voice continued 'you didn't think everything was all normal again' the voice slowed down to accentuate the last part.
Leanard looked around. Nothing, nowhere 'All in your head' the voice garbled 'although it is always nice to hang around here' the voice materialised above Leanard; First the red heels then the over leg in a fashion which would make the best mahjong player question pattern play.
She wore a stunning car salesman smile, a mascara the colour of velvet and a dress of flamingos on fire. The flamingos were actually patterned on with fire and looked like a pink after image of scorched retinas.
'you shouldn't forget to take your medication like that. Terrible things have happened to those who ignore the doctors orders you know'
Leanard glowered at the woman sitting upside down in an armchair above his coffee table.
'Excuse me, how exactly is it that you are up there?'
The woman's smile wavered.
'If you have to know-' she began to fiddle with the armchair 'it is you who is the wrong way round'
Leanard felt a strange shift of reality. Nothing changed but walking and existing suddenly became more uncomfortable, almost felt like he was on a merry go round, moving backwards through water but upside down. It was at that point where he could've sworn that the coffee drags on the bottom f his cup began to float up. As he watched, the rest of the coffee followed; up, up and into the out-held cup above him.
'its all about perception you see'
Madness smiled again and took a sip of her newly poured coffee.
'Sanity is in the eye of the beholder' she took another sip before frowning and picking out an eyelash from her right eye.
Johnathan studied this entire situation with a grain of pepper. Something was definitely not right. This was not his apartment, the up was not down and it certainly wasn't Monday.
He began considering all the other problems currently facing the window outside.
It was daytime, of that he could be certain. There was a letter on the table above him, addressed to Joshua...
'Joshua... ' why did the name sound so familiar.
Somewhere outside, the strained sound of the Montreal express echoed the streets.
Leanard snapped out of his carriage of thought and retried to understand why he was strapped into an armchair above his coffee table.
Although this was the perfect location to read an upside letter, clearly written to himself.
"Dear Joshua" it read "you may be aware that reality has taken a wrong turn at the quarter of the century, indeed the whole room may have been turned on its head. While it is difficult to conceive why. It should not bother you too much. At the imminent if reading this letter. What you are experiencing at this exact moment can be described with a few words. If I was better at writing, I would have written a book. Alas, as fate has it, there is never enough time to denote for such pursuits.
I digress.
In order to avoid a catastrophic paradox I must keep the details of this letter short - thought Leanard. Indeed in order to return the entire universe to its original position I must not reveal any important events or characters. Leanard was getting impatient in his armchair he fidgeted a little in the constraints as he read the letter out loud. If I must point out that a paradox has already been created you would most certainly be correct. And it is by this exact realisation can we beat her at her own game. Listen to me said Leanard. The entirety of this world rests on the only outcome this letter can have. Joshua considered the entire passage with mild puzzlement. Isn't it a paradox to write about writing about a paradox in first person to yourself? the answer is yes. Leanard was confused. So was Joshua.
The last paragraph of the letter was dedicated in extreme detail, about how the whole thing fitted together. Leanard thought about this and started to become outraged about the way the letter didn't actually describe anything and merely hinted a the terribly important information that it could not describe in detail. While Leanard was reading the letter, he didn't notice the single piece of paper flung out of the open window caught in a breeze. That piece contained the single most important piece of information to be found in this entire script It read: 'She must be stopped, Johnathan is the only one who can do it' it had a whole bunch of instructions on it, but they were lost, until Joshua was to find them again in the forgotten libraries of Montreal With that, the letter concluded itself, read Leanard.'
Read Leanard 'What a peculiar piece of information' I wonder who it was written by' he thought before being interrupted by a tremendous crash as the Montreal express smashed through the living room and with a bellow released clouds of steam through the apartment.
* * *
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