SNOW

CHAPTER II

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"Life went along with flowers in;

Not the arrival of frost,

But the departure of warmth;

Turning a motley canvas into lost."

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Damp.

And hot and sticky and so

UNCOMFORTABLE.

It feels like someone's repeatedly hitting my head with a rubber ball, bouncing off leaving a resonating, creating throbs in the back of my head. No, I'm not awake, just conscious of my environment-

'That is called being awake you idiot.' 

-which, in my case right now, is limited to my body and the blanket that's obediently perched upon my frame. The pillow supporting my head and one sharing half my body weight underneath my left side, as I lay on my stomach- so that my bones don't annoy me.

They hurt as if someone is poking me with their elbow when I lie on my side or on my tummy, despite the fact that I'm not skinny- which I would prefer for then I would have an excuse for bones that poke me- but I'm not, so I use a pillow to lay half my body on. My dad finds it very annoying but that remains till that, 'cause he doesn't change my position when he comes over to check the locks of my room and just tucks me in properly, just in case my blanket has fallen off, which is, rather rare for me.

'Well, finally snapping back to reality are we now sweetie?' SHUT THE DAMN UP.

My neurochemical operating system just has to ruin one good thought- several good thoughts everyday. If something hasn't been ruined yet, the moment's not far.

And sadly, pondering isn't enough to lull me to sleep, not even the beauty this time, in fact, its only making me want to wake up more. I groan in frustration. Its too hot for winter.

'And why wouldn't it be when momma dear just decided to put a quilt- a god damned quilt- over you?' 

I get up, waiting to blink my eyes open. I sure as hell wouldn't be able to sleep after that. Just as I push off the quilt and the blanket, ice seizes me, jolting a shiver to down the lengths of the exposed skin of all that my simple t-shirt could not cover. I found myself in my blanket before I knew it and decided to simply shove the quilt towards the edge of the bed where it wouldn't disturb me. I can fold it later, and tomorro- Today. Today, when I wake up. 

'Get this sweat off yourself.'

With that vexatious remark, my patience ran out and I groan- again for the umpteenth time- for not being able to hold my mind off the discomfort of the situation I woke up in.

My head is throbbing, matching its rhythm with that of my heart, while my skin is burning with an intensity increasing by moment.

'It wouldn't be funny if I say you're on fire.' Nope. Not funny in the least.

'Get out of here and wipe this sweat off yourself.'  It repeats and very, very reluctantly, I get out of my bed, lidded eyes, barely open, navigating blindly as I limp through my somber space.

The floor is cold.

'What else is it supposed to be like then?' 

Again I try to ignore it. The keyword being ignore; not bothering to hide the dripping sarcasm.