Eyes

Prologue

    WAKING UP IS ALWAYS THE EASY PART. Getting up? Now that's what gets me. I groan. Mondays. I yawn and attempt to swing a leg out of my blanket and onto the ground. Then comes the other. I lay like that for a while, contemplating whether I should get up and go to school for another dreadful day. But, I have to. If I stay home again, the school will contact me and make me pay for another semester. That wouldn't be good. It's hard enough affording food as it is.

    My hand falls to the floor in a search for my glasses. I hit something that feels like plastic. I pull it up, close to my face so I can see it. It's them alright. I place them on the bridge of my nose and gaze around.

    My room is littered with many thick books. I stand, and go to take a step. To my dismay, I step on one of my sharp sketching pencils. "Ugh." I clench my teeth. The fragile wood snaps. "Shoot!" I bite my lip, enduring the pain as I bend down and grasp the two halves of pencil. I lift my foot up.

    Splinters. Little pieces of wood embedded themselves in my flesh. Just great. I sit on the corner of my bed and try to pinch them out. I get a couple, but fail to get the last stubborn sliver. I check the alarm clock near my bed. It reads "6:32AM". I really have to go. I manage to maneuver past the disgusting mess of my room. Turning the cold knob of my door, I open the entrance to the hallway, in which the stairs are located. I descend into the dark, empty prison I call home. The windows are closed and rusted over due to no use in centuries. The doors are creaky and old. Paint is peeling and scattered along the floor in blood red curls.

    I take a step. The wood groans. I take another and start to walk. The kitchen is a disaster as usual. The counters that were once gleaming, polished granite are now stained with an unknown substance and very unstable. The stove is a
brownish-redish color due to rust. The dining table is missing a leg and time is working on another. The cabinets are the same. Some are in moderately good shape, others the doors hanging off of their hinges or lacking a wall or two. The refrigerator is about the only thing intact. I sigh as I take in the familiar surroundings. I open the white rectangular appliance and pull out a slice of seasoned turkey. It is slimy and strange to the touch.

    I tilt my head, laying the large piece of meat on my tongue, tasting the salty, spicy flavour I am all too familiar with. Grabbing a glass out of a cabinet with no door (It is more like a shelf), I head over to the bronze coloured sink and turn the water on, letting it pour into the cup I held out for it. I turn the water off as I sigh. Every day is pretty much the same. A beam of light blinds me. Warmth spreads across my face. I close my eyes, taking in the sunlight while it lasts.

    An engine roars ; the bus is here. I inhale. Another day just like the last. With that, I grab the strap of my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. Time for school.