Prologue 💿

6 1 0
                                    

5:45 AM

That's when I heard the straining awful blaring from my phone because of the alarm I set the night before

"So early." I groaned.

Every morning I thought about quitting my job. Being an assistant for rich, snobby, stuck up people isn't exactly a girls dream. It's not like I get paid scraps. I don't. I live in London comfortably. I have nice things. Just because my job pays well doesn't mean I have to like it. As I thought about the usual bliss of leaving my job, my second alarm went off.

"Ugh!" I yell as I pull my thick white sheets over my head.

After debating whether to get up or call in sick, I realized I should get out of bed or I would be late. I dragged my feet from the warm covers onto the cold floor of my apartment. I slipped on a rob and opened my curtains to be greeted by the dark morning sky.

"Jesus Christ." I muttered to myself.

I dragged myself to the kitchen and pressed start on my metallic coffee machine. While it brewed, I got dressed and prepared myself for the long day I knew I was about to have. Suddenly the sweet yet bitter aroma of coffee filled my nose and I knew it was done. I grabbed my warm mug and took it to the mirror with me. I admired myself carefully. A boring white blouse and navy skirt. I definitely looked liked a late assistant who'd was getting ready to be walked all over by ungrateful people. My mouth grew into a bittersweet smiled and I grabbed my keys.

It was raining as I drove my car to work. The sun slowly rising in the distance, some new pop boys song playing on the radio. Some slow melody, complimented by a sweet sounding voice. I kept my hands steady on the wheel and turned up the volume on my stereo as the music engulfed me.

You are now reading:
Matilda

Matilda - [h.s.]Where stories live. Discover now