Sinking

awakening

There was something serenely beautiful about the sunrise on a Wednesday morning.

Once again, I'd found myself not sleeping until sunrise on a school day. I couldn't sleep now, because the bell would ring in ten minutes, but I wasn't worried, not really.

I just watched as the orange orb known as the sun made it's way over the horizon, the colors in the sky melting together like paint. It was orange, and then pink, and then red, and then purple, as the vast expanse of sky slowly, ever so slowly, lightened up to it's daily blue. Even in my paintings, I could never get this moment exactly perfect. Nature was it's own artist; it didn't need paint.

I didn't let my eyes leave the colors as I grabbed my bag, double checking with my hands that I had everything I needed. But soon, the colors of the sun's awakening were faded out as the blue got brighter and slowly overtook the town, brightening my surroundings and alerting the people that our day was beginning. I walked down the steps of my porch.

All of the other kids were smart enough to get to school on time, and I let out a weary sigh as the bell rang, only a few blocks down and loud enough for me to hear it. It was senior year, but I still hadn't learned to get to school on time.

I wasn't worried, though. Everyone was used to it, and the slower I walked down the road the more I could admire my surroundings, even if I'd seen them hundreds of times over the past eighteen years. I could never get tired of the way there were fresh drops of dew on the gentle grass each morning, or the way the same family of birds chirped melodies at me on my journey to school. It was refreshing, the way each day was a new beginning, and no two mornings were ever the same. There would always be something new, even if only an added mixture of colors to the canvas of the sky.

Soon, the gravel under the soles of my feet flattened out until I was walking on the concrete of the school's entrance, the doors leering at me as I walked up to them.

Our secretary, Ms. Kenna, already knew I was late most of the time, so I didn't have to say a word as I stood next to her desk, awaiting the slip of paper that I would have to give to my teacher.

"Here you go, Dan," she stated as the paper found it's way to my fingertips, a slight smile ghosting at my lips as she waved me off to class. I had a feeling she was beginning to warm up to me, after multiple detentions due to tardiness. She was more kind to me than anyone I'd met before, and all she did was give me sympathetic looks with her dark blue eyes and smile at me with teeth whiter than the midnight moon.

Soon enough, I was down the hall and up the stairs to my first class; history. I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it. I didn't love any of my classes, except for art and creative writing. I enjoyed creating things, not reading about things already created.

The fingers on my left hand reached forward and I slowly swung the door open, stepping inside and shutting it behind me, causing the room to erupt into silence.

"Howell," Came the voice of our teacher, Mr. Nem, sounding exasperated as I knew the slow breath coming from the corners of his chapped lips was one of disappoinment rather than anger. "Late once again."

I nodded, held out the slip, and treaded over to my seat, remaining silent, as usual, with my eyes cast on the floor as I did, ignoring the judgemental snickers from other students that I received each day. I slowly opened my bag and set down a notebook and a pencil, gripping the writing utensil in my hand as I kept my head down, letting my senses focus on my ears so I could possibly pay attention this class.

***

The day was over quickly, quicker than I'd expected, but my good mood that I'd had at the morning's sunrise had quickly sunken into a bitterness I never enjoyed having. Usually, everything with school was fine, consisting of not speaking to anyone and ignoring the wads of paper launched at my head, as long as I ended up having art class. But on this day, our teacher had been sick, so we'd been forced to have a free period in place of my favorite escape. I'd walked outside to a picnic table and sat on it, sketching since all my paints were in the art room and at home.