Verse/Luka/Go to sleep high
From Create Your Own Story
m (Verse/Sleep High moved to Verse/Luka/Go to sleep high: Aesthetic pleasure?) |
Revision as of 06:49, 23 June 2012
You shut your eyes, and your eyes quell your fears until morning. You wake up to your alarm clock ringing and vibrating at 6:30 A.M.; you stopped letting your parents in quite a while ago... not that mattered much, your mom only came late at night, your father only when he was having his moments. Regardless, you sit up and glance around your room: the only difference from last night is the fact that the window is brightening up the place, making the mess more apparent. You shrug it off, opting to get up, grab a towel and a pair of boxers you think are from the floor, and make your way out into the wilderness.
The wilderness is eerily silent in the morning. Your father has already left for work, while your mother is downstairs, making you breakfast before heading off herself. It's usually a quiet life you lead, though sometimes you find it boring.
You slip into the bathroom, to do exactly that, and resurface some twenty minutes later, cotton hugging your pale white legs and toy, and the towel wrapped around your upper body. You return to your room, finish drying your upper body--including the mess of jet black hair that covers your head, and start a search for clean clothes. Despite the mess, you know the top layer is probably the cleanest, and grab a pair of dark blue skinny jeans by your computer desk and a white shirt from your closet. Your favorite black jacket is resting on your drawer, in all it's mono-colored glory. You didn't even try to decorate it with silly political or cultural statements like some folk. The black bookbag you carry around only suffered a single decoration: a pin, with a smiley face.
It's 7:20 before your work your way downstairs, a beanie stuck on your head to keep your hair down until it drys. On the table, you find a plate of eggs and bacon--you're quite fond of bacon, and your mother knows--with a glass of orange juice. All of it's gone by five minutes, and you leave the plate in the sink. Sometimes, your mother leaves you some money underneath the plate, but she didn't today.
With a scowl, you head out the door and into the light of day. The streets are rather bare, with a few kids walking to school, and the occasional car making it's way down the street. Most parents here don't usually leave until after their kids are at school, though you've given little thought to why your parents do; the realization makes you sneer, and stuff your hands into your pockets as you begin your twenty-minute journey to school.
You...
