Epic of the Average American Teenager

Chapter 1: Mornings

          I heard the tune of my alarm from my phone, which had somehow made its way under my bed since last night. I tried my best to ignore it, but the noise wouldn't stop. I didn't see exactly where it was at first, but I could see the light radiating from the screen, it being the only light source in my pitch black room. I worked my way further toward where my bed left the indentation in my wall where the furnace was located. I rolled over to look off the edge of my bed onto the sight of my floor, which had a charging cable, a random tie that I once found, and the air vent. I could not yet see my phone. I scooted forward so far that my entire upper body now slumped off the head of my bed. Now I saw it. I tiredly extended my arm out and grabbed it from under. I slid the dismiss option along the screen, deactivating my alarm. I dropped my phone back on the ground, then pulled myself back onto the bed, relapsing to relaxing.  As I started to drift away again, my mom pushed open my door and spoke to me quietly.

"Mitchel, it's time to get up."

          I let out a groan of dismay and rolled onto my stomach, forcing my face into my firm, smooth pillow, my shoulder-length blonde hair spanning out from each side of my head over it. I was preparing for her to turn on the light, which she does every time I refuse to get out of bed immediately. I pulled my soft and fuzzy blanket up past my shoulders, filling me with a comforting warmth. I heard the click of my light switch as she turned the lights on, and spoke into my pillow, "That won't work, Mom. I still see black." She let out a laugh and walked out of the room. My mom knows that once I'm woken more than once, I'm awake. I sigh into my pillow and push myself up and leaning over, eventually falling on my back. I stare into the light fixture with clenched eyes. The bright white light radiating from the twin bulbs bombarded my vulnerable eyes like being tackled by an entire football team. I clenched my eyes shut and threw my arms forward, sitting up and throwing my feet over the side of my bed. I combed through my hair with both hands, pulling my head back, my eyes still shut, just not as hard. I looked down at my body. I had a pair of black knee length athletic shorts on as pajamas, pajamas being the only thing I would ever wear athletic wear for.

          I observed the slight bit of definition I have in my chest and core muscles, but thought nothing of it. I finished my little reality check and stood up, lacing my fingers together and throwing my hands up and over my head, cracking my knuckles and stretching. I brought my arms fully extended down to shoulder level, then pulling my forearms in, letting out a big yawn and clenching several muscles around my body. I slid my hands up and down my face once, and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. Now a bit more awake and limber than I was, I stepped over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of black jeans and a lighter blue shirt that read "I CAN'T ADULT TODAY" on the front. I slid of my shorts and replaced them with the jeans, throwing the shorts into my nearly full hamper. I slid my arms into the bottom opening of my shirt and let it slide down my body, pulling it over my head. I fixed the bottom over the waist line of my jeans. I then grabbed the white and green, thick bristled hair brush off of the top of my dresser and forced it through my incredibly tangled hair. The brush pulled my head every which way, getting out all of the knots. My hair was incredibly hard to deal with in the morning, due to its length and how curly it normally is. But I loved my hair nonetheless. My hair had finally stopped resisting the brush about a minute into brushing it all over. I then combed my fingers through my hair, tossing my head back and shaking my head, bringing back some of the curl without all the tangle. 

          Now being mostly put together, I made my way to my mom's room. She kept her door open in the mornings. I tiredly walked into the room and collapsed onto her bed. 

"Why is school a thing?" I whined and complained.

"Because. Deal with it." She answered, sarcastically.

"But I don't want to. I want to wake up when I want, and drink coffee at my leisure while I watch TV, movies, and play video games all day. Is that too much to ask for?" I whine and complain on.

"Eh. The world works how it works, I guess. I wish I could do that, too." She replied.

"Well, all complaints aside, is the coffee done?" I questioned. Coffee is made every morning in my house, no matter what. Mom and I go through at least three pots before we leave the house, which is okay because the pot only holds 5 cups. 

"Yeah. Fresh, too. There's still enough for you to fill your cup." She points over to the coffee machine. 

          I walked into her bathroom and grabbed my black-painted, metal portable Starbucks coffee mug off of the shelf and made my cup. Filled about an inch before the brim, 4 spoonfuls of half-and-half and 3 Sweet and Low packets. I stirred it all together and screwed the lid on tight. It wasn't until I went back and sat on her bed again to where I flipped open the little hatch and started blowing into the hole to cool it and took a small sip. I sat back as much as I could and begun to watch the episode of the Big Bang Theory she had recorded the night before on the TV.

          This was a typical morning in my house. My brother was still asleep because he only took a short time to get ready, usually. My sister was probably in her room, caking her face in makeup and other time-wasting activities. She's always the reason we don't leave the house until five minutes before school starts. My mom woke me up earlier than my brother because I'm her favorite to spend time with, just sitting back and watching TV while drinking coffee. This was pretty much how it worked every morning, and no one else would take it any other way.