A groovy, pixilated, tune begins fighting its way into my ears, a sound I’ve come to despise. At first, it’s muffled, but grows louder as my eyes begin to peel their way open. The blanket slips off my arms when I sit up, and a shiver runs through me. The rents don’t like the gas bill running up this early in the season. Blindly reaching towards the end of my bed, I grasp the cold surface of my cell phone. The sudden blaze of the screen actually shoots a stabbing pain through out my forehead.
Like every morning, body overpowers mind and I hit snooze; buying myself five more minutes of well needed sleep. This happens about three more times, until I hear the faint sound of someone coming down the stairs to wake me. Being even more temperamental in the mornings, and not wanting to deal with anyone, I bury my head in my pillows and fake sleep.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the silhouette of my mother standing in the door frame. “It’s seven o’clock,” she chimes, “and we need to be out the door by seven-fifteen.” I sit up quick, head pounding, then somehow I’m in the bathroom, switching on my deep blue flat iron, next, the car, munching on the breakfast my mom has wrapped in a napkin. As I jump out of my seat and slam the door behind me, a bell rings somewhere inside the school. Picking up the pace, I climb the stairs, then rush through the entrance. Barreling through the halls, the only sounds I hear are faint whispers the quick shuffling of other late students’ feet.
The dark blue lockers are a blur to my left as I whiz down the hall, trying to avoid eye contact with the monitor who is saving my wallet. Finally, I turn into A1 and scamper to my seat. I look up at the teacher taking roll, then to the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty-two; but I’m safe.
No comments:
Post a Comment