Letters to Ember

Chapter 1

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the average alarm clock, waking up the average teenager in his average room. My life is far from interesting. I am far from interesting.
My groan gets mixed up with the still constant beeping of the alarm clock, and with my eyes still closed, my fingers dart over the bed, until I feel the cold wood of my nightsand and I press down the snooze button. I guess I may have pressed a little too hard, but it doesn't bother me the slightest bit; in fact, I would be relieved to have broken the damned thing, because at least I would have a reason to be late on my first day of school.
My first day on yet another school. The thought of going through it all over again - meeting the headmaster in the morning, meeting every bloody teacher, introducing myself to my classmates - made me feel sick, as if my stomach was fighting its way up my throat. I swallow hard to fight the feeling back, because obviously I don't feel like cleaning up my own puke - yes it would be yet another reason to be late for school, but then again, it wasn't worth it.
My slender fingers wrapped themselves around the box of cigarettes I always kept next to my alarm clock, for mornings like these, where the urge was too strong and I couldn't wait until I got outside again. I opened one eye and immediately closed it again, the sunlight peeking through the window blinding my vision; it's not supposed to be so sunny so early in the morning -especially not in November. Still temporary blind, as I refuse to open my eyes again, I fish out one of the fags, placing it between my dry lips. Now, I am forced to open my eyes again, because I don't really feel like burning myself with my lighter. Once again my hand darts over to the bedside table, but this time more efficiently, as for I can see now, my eyes squinted against the light. I grab the cold lighter, the metal feeling against my hand sending a shiver down my spine and not the pleasant kind for that matter. I quickly lit the cigarette, so I can let go of the cold metal, and inhale the toxic smoke, ruining my already rotted lungs. I keep the smoke in for a moment, counting to ten before I let it out, swirling around my small bedroom. I watch it rise, up to the white ceiling which is already turning a vague hue of yellow, and then inhale again. For a brief moment, I am not bothered by my thoughts and wonders, and I am just laying down on my bed, as if it was an average day. Too bad it wasn't.
"Ember!" The sound of my mother's high pitched voice fills the hallways, creeping into my room through the tiny crack underneath the door. I guess I stayed in my bedroom longer than I should have, but a quick glance at my alarm clock learns me i still have enough time. My next guess is that she smelled the smoke. I know my mom doesn't like it when I smoke. She knows I don't care. See, that's the thing with me, I don't really care about anything. It's not as if I'm suicidal, but if someone were to run over me with a bus, I wouldn't complain, because I simply woudn't care.
"Ember!" She shouted again and this time, her voice is even higher and louder, and I am slightly worried about her losing her voice. I feel bad for her, she's been through enough already. But it's not as if i asked to feel like this either. She does a good job, I guess. She genuinely does care, and she tries, she tries to make me happy again. But one day she will be forced to understand that happiness will now always stay foreign to me, and until that day, she will keep trying, and I will keep hurting her, by doing a terrible job of being a good son.
"Em-" She started yelling for the third time, and it was now really beginning to hurt my ears, so I yell back at her, cutting her voice off.
"Awake." That would have to do. I guess I'm not such a morning person, or a person person, or maybe I'm not so much of a person at all. Yes, that would do. Not much of a person at all, just a ghost of who I'm supposed to be, who I could have been, should have been.
Then, as if it noticed it was being replaced by my mother, the alarm clock started beeping again, and I let out the most frustrated groan amongst frustrated groans as my hand slams against it again. I'm positive I wrecked it now, but surprisingly, I don't really care.
I deportee the butt of the cigarette in the small ashtray next to my night light and roll out of the small bed, the blankets muffled against the back of it.