Angie P.O.V.
THE SHRILL RING of the alarm clock resting on my bedside table tugged me from my blissful slumber. I shot up immediately, my eyes blinking languidly as I reached one arm out to disable the screeching noise. Once the sound dissipated entirely, I took a moment to examine my surroundings. Arizona sunlight streamed in between the blinds that hung before my window, casting long shadows across the creamy colored carpet below. In the far corner, stood an opaque desk, papers aimlessly strewn over its top, and a swivel chair that always seemed to lean a little to the right. Directly beside me was a small table, only big enough for a lamp and my clock to reside atop.
Stretching my arms over my head, I swung my legs over the side of my mattress and got to my feet. The sudden motion sent a rush of blood and wave of nausea to my head, obscuring my vision with a dark veil of shimmering dots. With this sudden temporary loss of sight, I stumbled and knocked my toe against the bedside table.
Ow! Damn you little sleepy things! Can’t I ever wake up without you messing with my head!
Just before I went crashing to the ground, my eyesight returned and I regained my balance. I sighed inwardly and began walking towards the bathroom door, only a pivot and five steps to the left.
What a wonderful way to start the day.
Inside the bathroom, I flipped the light switch, wincing as the bright light made contact with my eyes. My reflection now stared back at me from the ovular mirror on the opposite wall. An untamed mane of wavy blonde hair outlined my tan face.
Yippy, lion hair. I thought I got rid of this when I bought that new shampoo.
Leaning forward and placing my hands on the edge of the sink, I examined my eyes. Dark eyelashes that faded to a light blonde framed my eyes, the only part of my body that I actually took pride in. The irises were a deep blue on the rims, transitioning to a softer blue as you moved inwards that, when hit with the right light, looked to be almost violet-colored. Rocking back on my heels, I turned the nozzle for the sink and washed my face with the cold water, quickly drawing any remaining traces of sleep from my body. After taming my hair and brushing my teeth, I cast one last glance at myself, taking in the tank-top and sweats I was wearing, before returning to my room.
My closet stood along the wall to my right, behind a slated white door. Turning the handle and pulling forward gently, I stepped inside the small walk-in closet. Noticing the fact that it was pitch black inside, I reached out and flipped the light switch, groaning as nothing happened.
The light’s out. Wonderful. Just, wonderful.
Blindly, I grappled for a pair of shorts from where I guessed they lay on one of the shelves to my side. I picked up a lump of fabric repeatedly, only to groan in frustration when I found the fabric running all the way to the floor. After throwing nearly every pair of pants I owned, I finally found my shorts.
I left the closet to exchange my sweats for the dark-colored shorts and then returned reluctantly towards the closet.
Time for round two.
I yanked the closet door back open and disappeared back into the darkness. Ten minutes later, and after a load of cursing and a mound of fabric, I reemerged from within the clutches of the closet, a white camisole and cropped black leather jacket slung over my arm. Shrugging off my tank top, I pulled a discarded bra from its temporary resting place on the floor and slipped it on, and then threw the camisole and leather jacket on over it.
After a quick peek at my newly-dressed appearance in the mirror, I left my room and walked out into the main quarters of my apartment. My “satchel” as I called it, since I held a heavy dislike for the word “purse", was sitting on top of the granite countertop of my kitchen. I grabbed it as I flew past, drawing it over my shoulder until the leather slapped against my side. I reached the door that led out of my quaint home and after pausing to slip on the Vans I always left there, turned the knob and stepped outside.
