Sommerset

I truly wish, from the deepest ditch in my heart, that he would get without aid. Tis' a tedious task, truly, to wake one such as he. Honestly, how many times must I reiterate of what today is? Daft posh git! I am far too lenient on this one. 

I prepare breakfast, whilst I do, purposely bang the pots and pans together. No response, not even the blaring snores have stopped! Slob, he is, his wax prove him deaf! Oh, how it rustles me so! Dost he desire to instill anger in me? I grip the handles of the pot firmly as I pour the soup into a tankard. 

Ooh, it just rubs me wrong. I fight the urge to bash the walls, for it is quite un-ladylike. The bell catches me off guard. Pray, I pause and wait for a count. One, two, three, four. Tis' four! Four rings of it! Oh, that is the last straw. 

I stomp upon the steps as I ascend to his filthy room. His snores can be heard from a mile away, it can. I slam the door open, and the smell, sight and sound stimulate my face. Ugh, I wish to not even get close to this paunchy unwashed coxcomb. There are foul smelling cloths placed arbitrarily all over the floor, and I do not even wish to know what that maggot-infested bowl had once been. Oh, unholy chamber, he slumbers in. How can he snore so blissfully knowing he's in a room as tainted as this? I cringe at the sight, and take a step forward, and limit myself so that I do not take any more. 

I yell. 

"Nick, get up!" 

His response is to continue snoring under the blanket that has been quilted by my very hands. Tis' these moments that I wonder why I even harbored him in the first place. I sigh heavily in frustration, for this person absolutely will not wake from normal means. I hesitate, but take another few steps forward-regretfully-careful as to not step on the disgusting bowl, and I stand directly in front of his foul-looking bed. The grooves of his body stands out from the quilt he covers himself with, and his feet stick out of the quilt as well. His face is completely covered as he snores. A rather cynical part of me wishes the quilt would suffocate him in his sleep- no, all part of me wishes that. 

I raise my fist and slam it on his side while yelling. "Nick, get up!" 

He responds with a grunt, scratches his side that I hit under the quilt, and he continues snoring. 

So help me, Flynn, any more stress and I shall put sunder upon this life. 

I clasp my hands together, and repeat the same method as before. "Nick!" 

He stops snoring. My prayer has been answered. I do not have to take a life this day. 

A head with long black hair pops up out of what used to be a white quilt. His face sits flat upon the mattress. A muffled, "Hmm," comes from his mouth. 

I yell. "Nick! Have you forgotten about today?! I literally reminded you five times before the curfew!" 

He is silent for a moment. So am I. He suddenly turns his head toward me- in a way so sudden, that I almost stagger back in surprise. His mouth is wide open, and dried drool has made its impression on his face. 

"Academy," Is what I make out from his half sleep-talk-mutter. His eyes are wide open, and if I wasn't an irritable mess, I'd most likely be laughing. 

He jumps out of bed. He does not hesitate to undress in front of me, so I quickly turn around and make my way toward the door. Unfortunately, my right foot meets with the very bowl I have walked so carefully to avoid it, and I trip. I lose balance, and my face lands directly on one of the many cloths scattered onto the floor. Ugh! What has he done with this thing? It smells of... rotting fruit! I quickly get up, with a reddened face, both from embarrassment and abuse, and walk out of this stupid room. I hear laughing as I slam the door. I grind my teeth and grunt in frustration.