From Sunrise to Survival

Chapter One

The pre-dawn light seeped through the blinds, painting sickly yellow stripes across Alanas crumpled duvet. Her alarm wouldnt shriek for another two hours, a fact that offered no solace. Sleep, a refuge for most, was a fickle ally for Alana. It either clung to her with suffocating intensity, or vanished entirely, leaving her adrift in a sea of restless thoughts.

This morning belonged to the latter. A familiar weight, a cloak of despair, pressed down on her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it away, but the eco of yesterdays therapy session filled the silence. Dr. Carters words, usually a lifeline, felt hollow today. Sometimes, hes said, his voice gentle, the hardest part is simply getting out of bed.

Alana threw back the covers, the effort monumental. The cold air sent a jolt through her system, a temporary distraction. She shuffled to the window, the cityscape outside sill shrouded in pre-dawn gloom. It mirrored the hollowness she felt inside.

College life, a supposed haven of independence and self-discovery, felt like a constant performance. Balancing classes, a part-time job at the bookstore, and feigning normalcy with her friends was exhausting. They were a bundle of joy and laughter, late night adventures, and a world where emotions were worn brightly, not hidden like a shameful secret. Alana ached to join them fully, but her laughter always felt tinged with hollowness that only she could hear.

The silence in her apartment was broken only by the rhythmic tick of the wall clock. With a sigh, Alana decided defeat wasnt an option today. She shuffled to the bathroom, the harsh fluorescent light momentarily blinding. As she splashed water on her face, a sliver of defiance sparked within her. Dr. Carter was right. Getting out of bed was a battle, but maybe, just maybe, winning this one battle could lead to winning the day.

The lukewarm shower did little to chase away the lingering chill, bur it served its purpose. Slipping into faded jeans and a well-worn sweater, Alana felt a pang of longing for the vibrant clothes she saw her friends wear. Yet, the muted colors felt like a shield today, a way to blend into the background.

A quick breakfast of cereal and stale coffee was enough to settle her stomach. Her backpack, packed the night before, felt heavy on her shoulders, not just with books, but with the weight of the day ahead. Stepping outside, the crisp morning air sent a shiver down her spine. The city was slowly waking up, the rumble of a bus engine the only sound initially. Soon, the symphony of the city began, honking horns, distant sirens, and the steady hum of human activity.

The walk to campus was a blur. Familiar faces passed by smiles and greetings exchanged on autopilot. Alana managed a few weak waves, her smile plastered on like a poorly applied mask. Her first class, Intro to Poetry, was a safe haven. Professor Evans, with his booming voice and infectious enthusiasm, could light a fire in the most jaded soul. Today, however, the words on the page swam before her eyes. She participated in class discussions, her voice a monotonous drone even to her own ears.

Lunch was a solitary affair, a ham sandwich devoured on a park bench. The sun, finally breaking through the clouds, cast a weak warmth on her face. A group of girls, their laughter echoing across the quad, caught her attention. They were everything Alana wanted to be, vibrant, carefree, their lives splashed with color. A lump formed in her throat, threatening to choke back the meager lunch shed managed.

Her last class of the day, History of film, was a struggle. The professor droned on about the French New Wave, his words blurring into a monotonous hum. Alana fought the urge to bury her head in her notebook, to disappear into the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

With the dismissal of her professor, relief washed over her. Stepping out of the building, she felt the weight of textbooks and unspoken anxieties pressing down on her. The walk back to her apartment was slower this time, each step a conscious effort.

Stepping through her door, the familiar silence pressed in on her. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, clawed at her. She collapsed onto her couch, the backpack thudding to the floor. Flipping on the television, she scrolled through the channels until she landed on the local news.

The upbeat newscasters face filled the screen, a stark contrast to Alanas mood. A story about a series of unexplained animal attacks played. Then, a report on a new strain of flu spreading rapidly across the state. Alana watched with detached curiosity, the words barely registering.

As the newscaster switched to a weather report, a flicker of interest stirred within her. A storm was brewing, expected to hit the city later that night. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Maybe the storm would wash away the oppressive feeling hanging over her, maybe it would bring a much-needed change. It was a slim hope, but in the vast emptiness she felt, it was enough for now.

Exhaustion pulled Alana in. The noise of the television, once distracting, lulled her eyelids heavy. The days forced interactions, the weight of her unspoken struggles, all merged into a dull ache. Surrendering to the inevitable, she burrowed deeper into the couch, letting the sounds of the news wash over her like a white noise lullaby. Sleep, for once, beckoned not with its suffocating hold, but instead with the promise of a temporary escape. She closed her eyes, welcoming the dreamless sleep.