A crumpled white ring surrounds my mattress, draping over the sides like a curtain sheet, grazing the matted coat of which is my carpet. I don't stir from my awkwardly strewn position across my grimy mattress, despite me being very aware I have a job to keep.
But quite frankly, I can't be bothered.
The only sound that drags me from my nest is the drawling chasm of the morning call possibly trying to explode my eardrums. I am forced to crawl, as if a soldier, from my pit.
I brush my inky hair from my eyes, which is cropped just above my ears. I then proceed to fluff-ify it with my hand, creating a soft mess of black strands. And yes, it does look oddly attractive. At least, that's how it's always looked in my dust-coated mirror, I do suppose. I'm unsure why, but I suddenly feel quite self-conscious.
I pluck out the monotone, creased heap that is my work jacket out of a pile of flung clothes, remembering to put on my bored overalls, paired with my stained white shirt, on underneath. Pyjamas are always considered on the mornings though.
I listen to the pat of my bare feet as they grip across the tiles of the bathroom, as I crouch down and search for my toothbrush. Shit. I think to myself, as I now recall that I threw out my weathered old one.
'Welp, I'm fucked.' I say to no one in particular.
I ignore this, misfortune, and carry out the action of wresting my socks onto my feet. I wonder to myself if the streets will be lined with laughter today whilst I tie my brown-laden laces. I swiftly remind my self that fairytales aren't real as I open the door to the grey-glazed streets of New Arid.
YOU ARE READING
Grey Roses
Romance{discontinued} New Arid is a places of dull, uninteresting characters. People believe no one's spirit survives the amount of blandness and grey forced upon them. I guess people were wrong. Lol this is a work in progress don't come for me if it doesn...
