It was as normal a day as any day could be. The crisp early morning air filtered through the window, the light-hearted chirps of birds accompanied the calming silence, and the warming sun shone its bright rays onto the arising workers of the city. Little seemed beyond normal, and for what was different, little was there to notice. Perhaps for a few slight additions to the small apartment of one young lady, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Except, of course, for those small additions.

To them, their lives had changed quite dramatically: the previous weekend they had received invitations. Opening the mailbox on a morning similar to the one in which they found themselves, each of them recognized immediately the ominous presence of a single letter  -- a simple, ordinary white letter carrying no noticeable markings except for a wax seal encrusted on the front of the letter. Engraved in the seal was a notorious picture, easily identifiable to anyone as a man cowering under the sole of a giant, the characteristic logo of one of the most powerful companies in the world.

  Capturing the attention of every man, woman, and child on the face of the planet, the renowned company featured a world-acclaimed television show, entitled “The Morning Routine.” In fact, it is for this very show that the situation arose for each of those individuals, and it is the same show that gives each and every individual such a dread for such a letter. Rather than inviting audience members to witness the widely beheld show as many other traditional shows preferred, the company sent out only one type of letter to its audience: a death sentence.

  Its message, despite first appearances, was far from an invitation. During the last twenty years, the populus of the world became more and more demanding for cruel and realistic violence in their entertainment to satiate their unquenchable lust for destruction. Unable to keep up with such a demand through means of classical methods, the governments of the world were forced to compromise with the people. Initiating a lottery of sorts, they began to randomly select individuals from any creed, gender, race, and social standing to partake in weekly sessions of amusement that were played for the world to enjoy.

Each of the chosen candidates would be sent a congratulatory letter, commending them in their servitude to country and providing the details of their assignments. “The Morning Routine” was one of these possible assignments, and was quite a popular one too. The show would focus on the daily ritual of an attractive, unaware woman as she prepared herself for work; while, unbeknownst to her, the tiny participants awaited her merciless termination, being strategically placed throughout her home for maximum enjoyment (of the audience).

From toilet seats and soap trays to slippers and clothing, every imaginable position and situation would be forced upon the unwilling sacrifice to appease the crowd and its unrelenting desire for more. In the course of an hour, twenty ordinary members of society would be relentlessly tormented to the very limits of human imagination with no reason or motive given by the very person carrying it out.

For the unlucky additions, the haunting blare of an alarm clock would be the only explanation given to them that day. As the high pitched siren of death vibrated through the house, the unfortunate participants began to awaken. Slowly, one by one, each and every participant focused on the source of the noise just in time to witness the genesis of their demise. With a belabored groan and a lazy stretch, their executioner slowly rose from her bed, roughly slamming the alarm clock into submission with an annoyed glance. Finally, after a few moments of mindless contemplation, she released a quick grunt before beginning her daily routine.

“Ugh, I hate mornings.”