Your Story

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6 a.m.

You wake up and groan. Gotta love high school. You stretch your legs and bury your head back into your pillow; God, you're tired. Of course, that's your own fault. Television, you now know, gets a little repetitive after one in the morning.

You make an effort to fall back asleep, but unfortunately, the dog, the stupid, stupid dog, has already heard the alarm. She paws you, then sits and stares. Then paws you again.

"MMMMFFFF!" you protest, but the dog only takes that as a form of encouragement, wagging her tail and bouncing around your bed. You love yellow labs, but good God, if this dog won't shut up, you are unspaying her so that she can have a doggie pregnancy and know what it is to be broken.

You sit up and hug her.

Anyway, you need to get up and get dressed. Okay. You can do that. Small steps. With effort, you roll out of bed and onto the floor, get up, then open up your closet. There we go. You're awake now (mostly).


Hmm, what to wear?:

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