A short breath withdrew from his mouth, suddenly puffing away in the cold Alaskan air. His house was small, filled with none but his Mom and their small collection of everyday objects and utensils. He swallowed, breathing more. He felt a cold rush of air brush against his face and hand, which lay dormant outside of his blanket. He tossed the black comforter to the side, opening his eyes.
"Good morning, son. I made eggs for breakfast if your hungry, but they'll be cold very soon." She said, his mom, smiling.
He groaned, his blood feeling frozen, his pale skin cold to the touch. He stepped onto the hard wood flooring, nearly jumping at the cold feeling on his skin. He changed into his morning wear, a long-sleeve shirt, snow coat, jeans, and boots. He grabbed his Beanie, fastening the hat on his brown, messy hair. He walked into the kitchen, his bedroom door clicking behind him. As he pulled the chair out to sit, he heard the familiar sound against the floor, sitting quietly in his seat.
He grabbed his fork, puncturing the now cold eggs, and bringing them to his mouth before eating. With his mouth full, he said, "Thank you Mom."
She nodded before he dropped the fork, and grabbed his bag. He heard a loud sounding car outside, a bus. He hugged his mother before slamming the door behind him, and walking to the bus. The doors swung open, squeaking from use. He stepped on, the warm, muggy air overtaking him, and the scent of nothing, but everything was there. He sat on his usual seat in the back, avoiding crumpled papers flying everywhere from immature child-like "young adults".
