The piercing noise of my phone alarm jolted me awake. Early January was always my favorite time of year because it brought rain. It acted as white noise and helped me fall asleep no matter how awake I was. Rain brought this weird feeling of comfort. Like nothing could hear me. Like I was safe from whatever the outside world had to offer that day.
I sat up and rubbed the crust out of the corners of my eyes. Even though my vision was blurred from my morning fatigue, I could see that my window was plagued with water droplets that caused a wavy distortion of my small backyard. The grass was overgrown and infested with worms because of my lack of tending to it, despite it being my job.
The distinct noise of the TV in the living room playing cartoons forced me out of a dazed trance and I collected my bearings. I craned my neck up and looked at my clock and it read 8:47. Late for work again. The overwhelming presence of guilt for not showing up to events on time eventually wore off and became a norm towards the end of senior year in high school. My managers often would show up late and obviously paid little attention to my clocked hours.
With the little amount of motivation I had left, I stood up and walked over to my standing dresser. It was black with multiple drawers and was awfully organized. Pants and different colored shirts hung out of the drawers.
Why should I fold them? They'll just wrinkle again anyway.
With my clothes half wrinkled, I walked out of my room to find my Mom and Dad watching looney tunes and eating cinnamon rolls with orange-flavored frosting on top. It was always my favorite as a kid. But no matter them being my favorite, they hadn't cooked enough for me to eat.
Selfish bastards.
"Goodbye Edith. Have a nice day at work sweetie," called my mother out to me. She smiled so wide that it was unrealistic. I felt the aura of her words and the passive aggressive intent behind them. She knew she didn't cook enough for me to eat. A surge of frustration flew into my veins and down into my entire body. I felt the individual fibers of muscle tensen up and cause my hand to ball into a fist. I chose to say nothing and walked out the door
"You're fired"
YOU ARE READING
Inbalance
TerrorEverything is an experiment. Everything has answers, and everything has results. Not all of them are failures, but almost none of them are successful. Edith is not a beggar, and she is not a chooser. There's something beyond her grasp that she wants...
