Oracle

Winnie Ch. 1

The alarm clock blared a loud vibrating noise. Winnie always had to have that annoying alarm, or else she wouldn't have ever gotten up in the morning. 

She hated mornings.

Winnie rolled over in her cushy bed, rubbing her hand against her nose as she let out a stifled groan. She laid in bed for a few moments, keeping her eyes squeezed shut, yet the light shining through the small window of her room was still visible from past her eyelids.

Her room was extremely small. It hardly had enough space for Winnie herself. It was about the size of a bathroom. It was less of an actual bedroom, and felt more like an expanded closet. When she first had moved in there she felt like it was a huge room, that she would have enough space to decorate and furnish her room in every vibrant way her 8 year old mind thought of, but now it was just a moderately decorated and cramped room.

Her small twin bed was pushed to the right of the room with its iron wrought bed frame and lumpy mattress that hadn't been changed since she first moved. It was clearly broken by how often it gave Winnie back pains in the morning when she rolled out of bed. 

Many dirty clothes were scattered around the room due to Winnie being too exhausted to throw them in a basket in the mornings or even at night.

A white dresser with blue and pink painted drawers sat at the end of Winnie's bed, placed up against the wall. Some of the paint recently started chipping off to the point where you could see the old brown wood underneath.

Her room was cluttered, full of random objects that piqued Winnie's interest. Random square boxes laid under her bed, spilling out random belongings such as mismatched shoes or socks, cheap bracelets that were no doubt children's, magazines, crusty nail polish, and various painted rocks.

She slowly opened her eyes as the blaring alarm that was sitting on a fold-up table by her bed began to annoy her; she couldn't bear listening to any more of it. She sat up, reaching her arm over and slamming her hand down on the snooze button.

The alarm abruptly stopped, displaying the pixelated time on the black brick of an alarm clock. 9:45 a.m. 

It was quite an old clock; Winnie remembered having it for a long time, even before her mother had left. The back of the alarm clock never stayed closed, exposing the cheap batteries, which she had had to cover with a layer of duct tape. There was a small crack in the screen, and there was no way to reset the time any more or even turn off the set alarm. It was cheap, a small present her grandmother had given her for her 6th birthday, which gave Winnie the questioning thought: what 6 year old would use an alarm clock? It only ever made Winnie pissed off, especially with her hatred of annoying noises and mornings; it was the epitome of Winnie's "hatred of dumb things people run into almost every day".  

She laid back down on her lumpy bed, rolling onto her back. She put her hands over her face, pointing her elbows up toward the ceiling while she rubbed her eyelids in a half-hearted method to get herself to wake up.

Winnie slowly sat up, her brown-sugar colored hair a mess as the feeling of dried drool covered her chin, gluing her hair to her mouth. She pulled her hair out of her face, the feeling of the drool making her cringe as she opened her eyes, staring daggers at her hair. She had been thinking about cutting it recently, but never got around to it, in addition to also not having the money for a proper haircut; she would have to do it herself.

She rolled out of bed, her foot catching the sheets and causing her to stumble over the cluttered blankets, the mobile home rocking promptly to the side as she fell onto the floor, making a loud thud noise. 

"Winnie!" She heard her father holler in his hoarse voice. He sounded irritated and threatening.

Winnie, however, knew better. He was just tired; probably hadn't had his coffee yet. That was what usually got them out of their morning slump as the day started, one of the few parallels Winnie and her father shared. 

She supposedly acted more like her mother by what her father had said, which showed similarities by how often Winnie and her father would argue, but there was one noticeable difference between Winnie and her mother. 

Winnie laid on her stomach on the floor, too tired to even move. She kicked her leg angrily, trying to get the blankets to loosen around her ankle without her having to move too much to remove them. She brushed hair out of her face, her fingernails getting tangled in her unwashed yet beautifully colored hair.

She fumbled with her hand caught in her hair, trying to pull her fingers out of her hair as she let out a resentful whine.

Her alarm clock began to ring again, the deafening blaring noise making her head hurt.

She narrowed her eyes angrily, dropping her head forward onto the dog-hair covered, carpeted floor with a stomp.

She hated mornings.