Unusual Narrators

Chapter One: Full Body Mirror

"She was just like me. Someone who couldn't see their own importance and beauty."

It was almost time. Thirty seconds left before her day began. Five in the morning during the weekdays and eight in the morning during the weekends. Those were the times when she normally woke up.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Her alarm clock typically burst into a frenzy afterward- interrupting the peace she had during her sleep- and she responded by trying her best to return the world back to its silent state. It took her a couple of tries before she finally succeeded, but by that time, she was already awake.

She yawned with the same adorable sound every morning as she stretched her arms up in the air as if trying to grab the stars in the sky all within her reach. She groaned her grogginess out and complained with a single sentence, one designated for each day of the week. It was Monday, so she uttered the same sentence I've heard many mornings before: "I hate Mondays."

It was a rather simple sentence that could possibly carry a hundred interpretations, but for me, all I knew was one simple fact: she hated Mondays.

Once she had uttered the sentence to start her day, she would walk up to me, and that's how my day would start. My day started with me seeing her.

Perhaps it would be rather cliché if I considered myself lucky that that's how my day started every morning, but it was merely the truth. She would walk up to me, and I would see the beauty she carried with her. The masterpiece that she was.

She spent around ten to twenty minutes staring at me during the morning depending on the day of the week. Since it was a Monday, she spent fifteen minutes with me. It allowed her to complain how she hated waking up during Mondays because of a different co-worker each time. That day, she told me how a woman named Anna irritated her because of how simple-minded she was. She continued on this rant until her time with me in the morning was done.

But I never did fully pay attention to the things she said, including that morning and every morning in the past. Rather, I couldn't. I was too busy. Too busy appreciating the simplicity of the woman that would sit in front of me and complain. I was too distracted. Too distracted by the thought of what it would be like to kiss her ever so soft, scarlet lips.

She grabbed her phone to look at the time before deciding to take a shower and get ready for work.

During the time she spent in the shower, I spent those minutes reminiscing how lucky I was. How lucky I was that she spent the first several minutes of her day with me. How she wasn't afraid to show me her messy mocha colored hair that she couldn't show to anyone else. How I was the first to ever gaze my eyes upon her before anyone else did. Those were the moments I truly appreciated. The moments when she was the most beautiful before the day expected anything of her.

It was several minutes later when she stepped out of the shower and stood a couple of feet away from me, covered with nothing but her cerulean colored towel. Of course, I tried my very best not to look at her during these certain situations but how could I resist?

I took a peek and watched as the tiny droplets of water ran from the back of her neck down her olive skin body until it stopped at the very sole of her feet. How the light from beyond the window blinds glistened from her body during these moments. Not everyone could say that they ever had the chance to see something so pristine and pure through their very eyes.

Whenever she walked towards me during that moment, I felt on my skin the steam that emanated from her body as she stepped out of the shower. And ever oh so fortunate was I, that she consulted me on what she would wear or how she would fix her hair. Every time she thought she looked ugly in the clothes she wanted to wear, I wished I could tell her if only I could that it didn't matter because she was still beautiful nevertheless.