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❈𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕––𝟒:𝟑𝟎 𝐀𝐌, 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞❈
𝐁𝐙𝐙𝐙
𝐁𝐙𝐙𝐙
𝐁𝐙𝐙––
❝Uuugghh! Shut uup!❞
❝God. Stupid fucking . . . Alar––ACH!❞
Oh . . .
Well isn't that just . . .
That's just . . .
Great!
No, that's just great!
That's actually fucking terrific!
Well, isn't that just a perfect way to start off my Monday.
Falling off my damn bed.
An aggravated, sonorous groan echoed throughout the walls of my small, empty apartment.
I hate Mondays.
This was just a preview of the grueling week ahead--a repeating, monotonous cycle of work. One I dreaded every Sunday, every Monday morning, and every night of the week.
❝FuuUUCK!❞ I groaned out, my voice filled with a frustrated grogginess as I reached up to grab the top of my bed, hoisting myself up.
My limbs felt like lead as I picked myself up to my knees, letting out a long, weary sigh. I shifted my gaze to the alarm clock's red, bold numbers, and sighed once again.
𝟒:𝟑𝟏 𝐀𝐌.
I shook my head and leaned forward, letting my forehead rest against the edge of the bed, staring down at the dull, black of my carpet.
I was still tired, wrapped in the lingering warmth of my blankets, but my alarm clock just had to scream at me, ❝Get up! It's time for another boring day!❞
I could barely move my arms, already so settled in this sitting position, my eyelids growing heavy once more.
God, I should just call in sick.
The thought was tempting, but I knew I had responsibilities. Besides, if I didn't take a day off these next two weeks, I'd earn a week's vacation––one I've been looking forward to for three months.
