Swiped

Sleepy

^^Claire

Luke

Some people say dreams are a manifestation of prophetic divination. Others believe it to be a realm of imagination and creativity, manufactured by the mind to provide valuable insight about your daily life. To those people, I say, fuck off.

I don't have dreams and never will. Every night I shut my eyes and plunge into unconsciousness. The next morning I wake up, reinvigorated with no memory of the transition that took place during the night. Rinse and repeat. I remember asking my mum excitedly one day after preschool many years ago about dreams. She told me every dream I experience is a new adventure. A journey through the jungles of the Amazon, a trip to space or even an underwater getaway. My mum is great at painting pictures of the world with her words. But I wish she hadn't said anything because every night since I eagerly jumped into bed praying I'd get a chance to live a different life.

I learned to stopped expecting a year later. Nothing ever happened. And just like today, dreams are but a poor man's wish to me. Regardless, it hardly bothers me anymore that I am unable to access whole new worlds during slumber. To me, the idea of having a dream is a dream in its own right.

I woke up to the incessant ringing of my alarm. Many a time have I wondered if the tune that people set as the ringtone for their alarms also happens to be the sound they most hate in the world. I suspect the answer would be a resounding yes. Rays of sunlight that flitted between the gaps in the curtains reach the back of my eyelids telling me it's about time to get ready for school. But ignoring the rational side of my brain I convinced myself to take another 5 more minutes. That's the equivalent of 0.0833 hours. Thinking of snooze time in larger units does help to alleviate some of the guilt. After all, what could go wrong?

***

"Luke get up you indolent slug. We're late," my sister barged into my room and screamed into my face.

"2 more minutes," I grumbled, wiping off her spittle and turning away from the deafening loud hailer that she calls her mouth.

"LUKE!" She screeched again.

Heaving a sigh I sat up and stared blurry eyed. "What time is it?" I asked, my voice was husky from sleep.

"8:46," she gritted. Her arms on hips and a strongly disapproving look painted her face.

My eyes widened. "Shit. We're late," I dashed out of bed and hurriedly and jumped into the bathroom.

Hastily, I brushed my teeth, washed my face and applied a superficial layer of gel to keep my hair in place. All done within 2 minutes. I didn't understand why ladies take longer than that to prepare.

I entered my room and walked to the wardrobe. "Get out," I said gesturing at my sister to leave.

"Why?" She asked, tapping her feet impatiently on the ground.

"Well," I said while stripping off my shirt. "If you feel like sticking around, in about 4 seconds you're gonna see proof that I'm not a little boy anymore." I started tugging on my boxers warningly.

"Urgh fine. Just hurry. I'm going to start the car," she left in a hurry. Scoffing to my self I pulled on a pair of jeans and a band t shirt. Grabbing my school bag beside the bed, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen.

My parents were seated at the breakfast table. Mum was stirring coffee in a travel mug while my dad was reading the news on his tablet. "Morning," I said. My mum handed me the mug and a slice of toast. "Here," she said.

"Thanks, mum," I mumbled gratefully, reaching for breakfast. "I'll be tutoring Caleb later after school, so I'll be back late."

"Alright, now go before your sister come back here to kill you. I just replaced the carpets," she said. My dad winked and made shooting gestures at me while I walked to the car. My mum smacked his shoulder and muttered something to him I that didn't hear.