Amans

1. Rise Up

"It is now 6:30 A.M." stated the electronic alarm clock on the nightstand. "Uggggh," Amans groaned, "just five more minutes," he mumbled, to no one in particular, since he was the only one occupying the one bedroom apartment. He turned over and buried his head further into his pillow, allowing sleep to overtake him.

The warm rays of sunshine peeked through the curtain across the room, heating up Amans's body as he lay dormant. Lazily sitting up, he wiped at the crust occupying the corner of his eyes and gazed out in front of him. His eyes, still puffy, were barely open as he tried to shake the feeling of sleep off of him.

Leaving the comforts of his bed, he strolled to the bathroom and switched on the light. An afterthought, he reached back to switch it off content with only using the sunlight to brighten up the room.

Absentmindedly, Amans went through the motions of his daily routine, which really only consisted of him smearing toothpaste on a brush and running it over his teeth. After splashing some water on his face and patting it dry with the nearest towel, Amans examined himself in the mirror.

He admired his angular jawline that was lined with what he deemed an anchored beard and his now glistening, porcelain white teeth.

Although his edge-up was still precise, he felt he was in desperate need of a haircut.

Amans liked to keep his hair short, aside from him having to tie his hair down at night to upkeep his small waves, maintenance was minimal.

He applied a generous amount of oil to his hair and brushed it through, not forgetting to spend extra time on the back since it was the hardest part to lay down.

He looked at himself once more and found his hazel eyes staring back at him.

It wasn't until he was rummaging through his drawer, searching for the other sock to complete the pair to the lonely one he held in his hand, that he glanced at the clock:

8:22

He was late!

In fact, he was more than late. He was screwed.

If it were any other employee at Daily Dosage this would be a forgivable mistake, but since it was Amans and his leash was already shortened, to his boss, Rick, this was a reason for termination, not to mention the fact that he had already been late once before.

"Crap!" He breathed.

Forgetting about reuniting the sock in his hand, he grabbed a random one and rushed toward the kitchen for his satchel.

His stomach growled in protest as he dashed past the refrigerator, but he couldn't waste any more precious minutes to satisfy his hunger.

Forgetting to check the contents of his satchel, he slung it over his shoulder and began to hop on one foot attempting to put on his socks. Amans dressed quickly, throwing on the first decent shirt he could find and pairing it with some black jeans.

Lucky for him there was no dress code at Daily Dosage, or that would have been another thing to add to the list of problems that were beginning to form.

He frantically scanned the room for his keys, but to his disappointment, they were nowhere in sight. "Noo," he groaned. Oh well, he thought.

He was going to have to risk his safety if he planned on staying employed.

Amans scanned his apartment once more, letting his gaze fall on the pieces of literature that lined his walls. They ranged from poetry and short stories to fully developed scripts and playwrights, his own work amongst them. Short stacks of paper and partially filled notebooks were scattered amongst the floor and all over the apartment, a pen never too far away.

He always had to be ready in case creativity struck.

Amans had even considered investing in a waterproof kindle for moments of clarity in the shower but pushed the crazy thought out of his head when he discovered the price of such a thing.

The pay at Daily Dosage was barely enough to cover the bills at his place alone, living in New York did not come cheap. He was already struggling to put together the money to support his own aspirations and did not need to be bothered with another desire.

His bookshelves contained some of the most magnificent written works known to man, but looking at them now they looked like a madman's pile of ledgers and disregarded novels.

It was in desperate need of organizing.

Determined to not allow these thoughts to plague his mind, Amans turned away from the mess he called home. Tucking his phone into the depths of his pocket, he started out the front door.

Amans looked back and pretended to lock up for the day, in case any bystanders were moseying around and wanted to test his unlocked door. He then headed down the four flights of stairs to the main entrance.

Any sensible person in a rush would have taken the elevator, the assumption that it would be faster. However, at the River Place complex, if you wanted to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, it was best to take the stairs, plus Amans enjoyed the cardio.

Scurrying down 42nd street, he hoped he would make it in time before his train left Grand Central Terminal. After seventeen minutes of a half walk, half jog, Amans reached his destination and was able to slip into the closing doors of the train, just as it was about to take off.

He reached for the pole to steady himself as the train began to gain traction. Clinging to it, he hoped not to disturb any of the other passengers and make his journey any more uncomfortable than it already would be on the overcrowded train. An elder gentleman in front of him eyed him thoughtfully before whispering, "Way to hustle," and flashing him a wink of encouragement.

Putting his dimple on display, Amans cracked a smile, "Thanks," he managed, still trying to ease his breathing from the scramble to the train station.

Digging around in his pockets, he realized he had forgotten his earphones in his bedroom in the midst of him rushing around his apartment, so he peered out of the window at the walls flying by.

Maybe Rick wouldn't notice that he was late, Amans thought, if he managed to slip into his desk before anyone saw him, then perhaps he would be able to escape his incessant nagging.

Honestly, Rick didn't acknowledge Amans unless it was imperative, however, on the other hand, he never missed a chance to give him a good scowling.

Without the distraction of music to help drown them out, Amans fell victim to his thoughts as the train bustled along, taking him in the direction of his despised job.