Ranger [ON HOLD]

Chapter One - Stereotypes and Gunpowder

(This a re-write of what was essentially a draft. More detail. More depth. More Ranger!) 

 Keep in mind this is no way related to Supernatural. While Supernatural inspired quite a bit(clearly), this is of my own creation aside from the obvious references toward God, demons, etc(as that is open information for anyone who can find a simple reference book).

 © 

The only sound in my morning wake up was the faint snoring my teddy bear hamster produced from his cage. The glowing clock on my nightstand flashed, signalling that I had slept through my normal alarm.

7:35 A.M

I had been up until nearly 4 A.M trying to finish reading a chapter of Ranger, which was probably not the best idea in the world on a school night. So waking up when I did was a pure miracle. As quickly as my sleepy brain could manage, I sat up before I could fall back asleep, pushing my thick layer of blankets down to my knees. 

Only still half awake, I searched around for my glasses, my hand flailing on top of my nightstand before they came in contact with the edge of the frames. Brushing my hair back, I slid them on and let out a tiny sigh. 

The dull white walls of my room surrounded me, a small filter of light cast itself through the gap of my shades and onto the blanket.

As always I tried to stay positive for the day, putting an automatic smile on my face as I stood on slightly wobbly legs. I'd learned that a happy smile in the morning could improve my mood, even if I wasn't feeling happy. 

Habitually I smoothed my sleep shirt; a grey top filled with holes and fraying stitching. I tugged the dresser drawer open with my foot, kicking out a navy blue long sleeve while I attempted to find pants that weren't completely ruined with use. 

I went about dressing almost lazily, smoothing my top over my torso halfheartedly and tugging on my last pair of clean jeans with a mental note to do laundry when I returned home. By now my hamsters squeaking snores had stopped, and I could hear him scuttling restlessly in his cage as he did every morning. 

"Kenny," I called with a tiny yawn, brushing my fingers back through my hair while trying to decide if it was worth taking a brush to this morning. The wild brown curls had their nice days, where I would only have to pass my fingers through it. Then they had their murderous days, where no amount of brushing could tame them and staying home from school seemed like a strong option. 

Kenny shuffled in his cage, peering up at me with a wiggling nose, eyes wide and eager as though preparing for a treat. Though he knew as well as I did that he wouldn't be getting squat until I came back.

"I'll see you when I get home. Then I can put you in your ball for a bit of exercise alright?" I smiled, slipping my index finger between the tiny bars to affectionately rub his head. I turned on my heel picking up my bag from beside the small desk under the window, before heading out my bedroom door and down the narrow hallway. 

My home was empty as always. After my mother died it became a husk of its former self. It was still kept immaculately clean, and the photos remained on the walls where I was certain they would stay for the rest of my life. But the laughter was gone. And my father could barely stand to be within its walls anymore. It had been hard on the both of us but more for him than anyone else, and I couldn't fault him for his misery. 

I paused by the living room, giving a tiny habitual wave to the urn sitting over the fireplace. There had been no body, but we had filled it with just a few her favorite things. Dried lavender flowers, sand from our trip to a beach on the west coast, lace from her wedding dress, and a bottle of her favorite perfume.