“Sibyl, you’re going to be late for work!” I heard my mother shout from our Birmingham kitchen.
“Agh,” I groaned, rolling over in my bed, reaching around aimlessly in search of my mobile.
A loud thud was heard, and I averted my sleep-clouded gaze to the floor right of my bed, where I saw the small device lying atop the floor. Unwrapping myself from the jail of blankets in which I had created during my restless night, I stumbled out of the bed, silently praying that I hadn’t caused a lovely crack down the middle of my double sided glass mobile phone.
I bent down and ever-so-ungracefully snatched the device up, offering a crooked smile to the still unmarked treasure, allowing a grunt of satisfaction to escape my throat.
I pressed the round button at the bottom front side of the device, and looked at the time. 9:48.
9:48?!
In a sudden rush of panic, I basically lunged myself into the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush and nearly poking myself in the eye with the medicine cabinet door as I hunted urgently for the toothpaste.
Two and a half minutes later I was yanking open each of my dresser drawers and pulling out random articles that may or may not be matching or suitable for my employment, but with little time to spare, I couldn’t complain.
Hoisting the a pair of light washed and knee-ripped jeans up my legs, I looked into the mirror above my nightstand and realized that I did, in fact, look like a product of a cemetery; what with dark grey rings below my eyes and my hair tangled into something closely akin to a bird’s nest.
Next I slid a grey tank top over my head, followed by a cream-coloured lace top.
Tank right-side out? Check.
Top inside-out? Check.
No one will notice, right?
Slipping on a pair of TOMS that clashed slightly with the colour of my jeans, I rushed to the kitchen whilst attempting to tame my unruly mane with nothing more than my fingers.
“Well look who’s finally up,” my mum said, winking at me teasingly.
“Morning,” I said, ignoring her snide remark.
Hastily, I grabbed a bagel from the cabinet above me and pulled it apart, adding a thick layer of cream cheese before reassembling it.
“Can I take your car? Mine needs gas,” I asked my mother, with a mouthful of un-swallowed bagel swimming around my mouth.
“Use your manners, don’t talk with food in your mouth,” my mum said, tossing her set of keys at me.
I fumbled to catch the flying set of jingles before uttering a “thanks mum” and then throwing a satchel over my shoulder and rushing out the door, keys in one hand and bagel and phone in the other.
YOU ARE READING
Every Fairytale
Fanfiction"Every fairytale needs a good, old fashioned villain..." The words rang through my head as I stepped closer to the door at the conclusion of this overly-extendend hallway. The wallpaper that had once seemed like a charming beauty - a reminder of tim...
