captive

where it all began

(this is my first story ever, I've tried before but its never worked out. please vote and comment if you enjoy :3)

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I jolt up in my bed to awoken by my alarm blasting in the cavern of my ear. My poor ears now ringing as I scrunch my face in distaste and stretch my legs under the paper thin covers.  With a head clogged with morning drowsiness, I exhale a rather large breath. 

"Another day huh" I think begrudgingly.

 I never did like this process, waking up I mean.  I have always thought it to be a waste of time. I would cut it out of my life completely if possible if I didn't need sleep so much. Sleep was not the problem, its just that reality was much more disappointing and a lot harder to enjoy when you were stuck there. A lot harder to drift through. Waking up pulled me away from my heaven. An eternal sleep was something I yearned for. I was not a morning person in the slightest. 

The loud ringing begins to annoy me so I angrily flip my itchy covers off of me, the woven fabric feeling like sandpaper against my skin. Bedsheets crumple and I cringe at the sounds. My bed creaking at every sudden move. Rusty springs digging into my backside as I roll off my bed. My mattress became lumpy long ago, layers of old blankets did not mask its uneven posture. 

Short stubby toes hit the floor with a slam as I stand up, my knees wobbling slightly as I propel myself up. Turning off my irritating alarm as I did so. If I didn't have an ear shattering alarm, I wouldn't wake up. I slept through thunderstorms and police sirens. Honestly I believed I could sleep through the apocalypse non the wiser. Yes, the  noises outside couldn't wake me up

It is the inside voices that rip me awake.

Looking out of my window I regretfully notice it is wide open with old curtains slithering around the room, almost begging to be torn away from the pole as they jolt around.  The light flickering through the holes that splattered on the woven fabric.  Moths were always leaving tiny patterns in their wake. The silver framing of the window clouded with mist, the piping turning green from lack of quality and age. That was stupid of me, I am now freezing. Clutching the handle with a rigid cold hand  I clasp the grey plastic and pull it shut, cursing as I do so.

 A small light seeps into my decrepit room, catching itself on parts of the walls and corners of my bed. The nails sticking out of my floorboards illuminated by the reflection of the moon. I had tried to hammer them back in but it didn't exactly work out seeing as I used a dictionary. Just because I don't actually own a hammer per se I thought a dictionary would be just as sturdy.

It is not, my dictionary is ruined.

I easily walk around them, being used to the danger zones on my floor. Although I had to learn the hard way. There were lots of failed attempts to go to the bathroom at night. I suck in a sharp breath at the thought. Since then I had memorised them. It eventually became a habit, a useful one too. I glanced at my scarred feet.  A frown crept on my face as I recalled their stories.  Stood there in my room,  hesitant over what to do with my head still a little foggy from waking up.

 My clock read 4AM, great I had slept in.

I hopped over my rotten floorboards, avoiding the creaky ones effortlessly. The last thing I needed was a hole in my floor and I did not trust that my place couldn't fall apart any minute. I peered into my small veneer closet.  Grabbing an oversized thick close knitted black jumper and a pair of old jeans containing multiple holes and a few tears. They were not for fashion though, simply from being over used as the jeans had faded considerably  since I had found them. Luckily aged jeans were considered fashionable to some. But I didn't understand how holes were now considered fashion. 

Letting out a long breath I tugged at the hem of my jumper, pulling it off the mangled hook and throwing it on my lumpy bed before I hung up the wire hanger again. My wardrobe barely clutching itself together with the rusty nails that impaled it, the few items of clothing I had protected by its wooden skeleton.

 The little light that bled through my thin curtains barely shone around my tiny room, I could not see in the greatest detail but my eyes had become used to the dark. My mother had liked to joke that my ability to see so well in the dark was because I was half rabbit  and this came from my love for carrots as a young girl.  I was freakishly into carrots. 

My mother would take me camping every year without fail, next to the seaside away from everything else. They were the best moments of my life. Next to my mother under the stars, I never wanted days like those to end. I no longer had the chance to joke with my mother in a dark flimsy tent. Surrounded by an uncomfortable blow up mattress, a sleeping bag and pillows. Closing my eyes I gave myself a few minutes to reminisce about my childhood camping trips. 

I would never forget how small I felt under the stars, the darkness struggling to swallow their bright light, the stars forever refusing to dull themselves. The black looked so far away compared to the scattered burns of white, it felt like I could just reach up and take them. Like I could just collect them from the sky and bask in the light they gave out. If I focused really hard, if I just took a deep breath it would seem like the edge of the world.  Similar to glitches in an old television. As if the world was merely behind a screen.

 It seemed like if I jumped high enough, I might just break through that screen.

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