"Oh crap! I'm really gonna be late now." I hopped out of my comfortable bed and pushed the off button on my alarm clock on my dresser. I stripped out of my pajamas and found a bra and underwear in my bottom drawer before picking out a pair of cute jeans and a simple top. I rushed out of my bedroom across the hall to my brothers’ shared room and got them out of bed. I pushed clothes into their arms and sent them into the bathroom to change. Hopefully they wouldn't fall asleep on the floor.
“Are you going to school today, Honey?” I heard Mom call from downstairs. That was her way of saying, “Get up now or I will come up there and dump a bucket of cold water on your face.” She wasn't mean; she was just really serious about my attendance.
“Oh and don’t forget to put some money in your lunch account, I left some money on the counter for you,” she called up again.
I scurried around the upper level of the two-story house we lived in, finding my books and things that I had been using last night when doing my homework. Every once in a while, I checked on my brothers to see how they were doing with getting ready. They had put their clothes on the right way, but they didn't ever bother to brush their hair. They were boys; I guess people just didn't expect brushed hair at their age.
Mom had me running after the kids while she made breakfast, but I still needed to get ready myself. I mean, if she put a plate of food in front of them, they might settle down for five minutes at least while I brushed my unruly hair. I didn't have a hair straightener, and I didn't mind, either; straightening your hair regularly could damage it beyond repair. I had always been taught that and I didn't want to question it. Better safe than sorry, right? Then I went across the hall again and knocked on the bathroom door to reassure myself that the boys were indeed getting ready. After that, I could eat breakfast and brush my teeth and go to school.
I shouldn't be angry with her for the hectic lifestyle; the divorce really had her patience wearing thin. The guy wasn't my dad, I never met my dad. Mom told me about him, when she was feeling up to it, before Mr. Last Year came along. When she was a teenager, she was unhappy, ran away and was put into foster care, where she rebelled and ran away, but where was a poor, negligent teenager supposed to go? And life on the streets things weren't any better. Then one day, Blue found her, he was a pimp, but she didn't mind, he was kind to her. She had men in and out of her bed for a year or two, only a few different guys, maybe four. Then Papa showed up, the old Rolling Stone. A few months later, she found out that she was pregnant, but she never saw Papa again after I was born, he just left a check on the table and walked out of there, like some kind of ghost. Mom was taken care of after that, with the money he left her. She never had to hook again. When I was little, I'd pretend that he was away, like he was in the army or something and he couldn't find his way back to me.
I gasped, finally coming out of my reverie. I had been daydreaming and wasted about five minutes of my already finite amount of time. I tended to do that a lot, since the boys came. I almost never had a moment alone, so when I finally did, I utilized it. Sometimes people would notice me daydreaming and look at me funny, but I quickly learned to get over it.
Stuffing what little things I had into my backpack, I hopped down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I kissed my mother on the cheek, telling her that I wasn't hungry anyway and that I hoped she had a nice day at work. She reached over and grabbed a few bills off of the counter, handing them to me, after which I stuffed them in my purse. Her boss had been threatening her termination for a few months now if she didn't stop missing days. Smiling over my shoulder at her, I dashed out the door, my toothbrush in hand. I could brush my teeth in the bathroom at school before the bell. I would use soap if I had to.
As soon as I had reached the outdoors, I stepped back, feeling sick. I had hoped that the fresh air would soothe me, would calm me from my hectic morning. But I was sadly mistaken. The air smelled horrid, and it was thick and damp. A substantial fog loomed over me and with it came the reek of Death. I looked around quickly, trying to find the source, but the only thing I could think of was the forest that stood behind my house. I glanced toward it, expecting to see a black mist wafting my direction. No such thing happened.
