The Fierce Decay of Neglect

Unsteadily, I walked down the hall leading to the kitchen. When I reached the doorway. I leaned against it, trying to quiet the dull thudding in my head. After a moment, I decided to put on a pot of coffee. Scooping the grounds from the can, my hands shook so much that the coffee spilled, speckling the top of the kitchen counter. I placed both hands flat on the counter in front of me to stop their tremor, then slumped onto a stool to wait for the coffee to brew.