𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 || EDDIE MUNSON

Sandman's Dust

WAKING up went slowly for Brandy, as per usual. The girl tried her best to seem like a morning person in front of Nancy, she certainly was. Nancy seemed to be in go mode as soon as she woke up, hopping out of the bed to turn off the alarm and switch on the lamp. The sun wasn't even up yet, the dark outside still slithering through the blinds.

Her dreams had been the vacant endlessness of her mind. Vague pieces of discussions she had that week with muddled faces of people she knew. Sometimes in her dreams, if she looked at somebody too long their faces would gradually be less and less recognizable. Like her subconscious couldn't focus on it.

Last night's dreams had been filled with tensions that felt similar to that of the day she had beforehand. She remembered a poofy perm and a laugh that sounded like Nancy's, but every time she would call out the girl wouldn't be there. Brandy remembered brown eyes and big fluffy curls the color of burnt umber and cedar. That part felt tense compared to the light and mellifluous laughter of before.

There was an uneasiness, unsureness. It was all very disheartening to feel sleeping. Though her mind swept it away as soon as she began to register and analyze it, like fallen leaves on a porch. That portion of her dream soon dissipated into nothing. And then just like that, she woke up. Her mind's little pictures were snatched away by Nancy Wheeler's blaring alarm clock.

Brandy lifted her head from the pillow, the warm bed begging her tired body to stay put. She blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the light that seemed to be blinding to her blurry eyes. The girl in front of her bounced around the room, grabbing clothes, teasing combs, and hair sprays alike. Brandy rubbed her eyes, sitting up in the bed. The room felt cold compared to the quilted sheets, making her regret ever leaving the comfort of the blankets even just for a moment.

"How do you have so much energy?" Brandy asked groggily, her voice laced with a sleepish gravel.

"Morning bird I guess," Nancy shrugged as she sat at her vanity.

"That makes one of us," The teen sat up fully, looking in the mirror sitting in the corner of the room. "Jesus Christ." She muttered, trying to flatter down her hair.

"Want a scrunchie?" Nancy asked, turning her body in her chair.

"Yeah," Brandy responded. "I don't see this doing what I want today." She gestured to the frizzy curls.

"Here," The lankier girl tossed a spray bottle and a hairbrush at her, along with a scrunchie or two. "It's just water," Nancy told her once she saw Brandy's aversion to the spray bottle.

Brandy nodded slowly, bracing herself for the uncomfortable spray of the water. She scrunched her nose and eyes shut, dousing her hair. It was irritating but she felt much more awake. Brandy winced, running the flat brush through her curls. Even as a child she never liked having her hair done, it was a task most unenjoyable to her. Her head was always tender and her mother always put her up too tight.

"It'll keep it from looking messy at the end of the day if we do it tighter."

She always preferred for her dad to do her hair. He'd wet it and brush it, then twist it back with a claw clip. It was quick and easy. Brandy wouldn't be caught dead with her hair like that now, even if she liked the style on herself. She was afraid it would make her appear lazy, or unkempt.

"God, I'm not a morning person," Brandy yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes once again.

"I can tell," Nancy laughed, masking a yawn of her own. "Look what you started!" She complained. Though a smile shined through on her expression.

"I'm sorry!" Brandy cried, standing she moved over to Nancy's closet.

"Anythings free game." She shrugged.