Warm, golden sun shines onto her face, slowly bringing her back to consciousness. The heavy woollen sheets fall off her limp body. Her eyes, still blurry, squint at the words on her open laptop lying on the floor, forming crows feet in the corners of her eyes. She rolls back over, pulling the blanket over her sweating body to cover her face from the sun. The blanket slips off, but that’s okay. It’s just for comfort, anyway. She nestles her face into it, falling asleep again.
The heat of her own body forces her to get out of bed. The discomfort is inescapable here. Feet planted on the carpet, head down and eyes closed, as though she were a statue. To hold the position of a overslept girl waking up forevermore. Her hand pats her mattress in various places, searching for her phone. The screen is cold on her fingertips. The clock reads 6:47am. Far too early. By how quiet the house was, she was under the assumption it had been perhaps noon on a weekday. On the contrary, she had woken up before anyone else on Saturday. Her eyes squeeze shut to rehydrate – the dry air stings. Her stomach rumbles uncomfortably inside her.
‘Breakfast…’
Pressing down upon the mattress, she lifts herself up. Lifts her arms above her head and stretches, letting a deep breath in… and out. It was breakfast time.
139Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡboazRGg4BU
The sun these coming months would be relentless. The whole country was in a heatwave currently and its only the sixth day of Summer. Sweat warbled down the side of her face, landing in her lap as she sat cross legged on the lounge. The fan setting was high yet her room felt still and arid. A cup with ice and water sat beside her. It was the weekend. School had finally ended – for good this time. Last night was the last proper school based event she’d ever have to attend. But she didn’t want to dwell on it. Her headphones pushed her tustled fringe out of her forehead. Slow, beautiful music played in her ears as waves of heat splash over her ever now and again. Her phone confidently read the weather as 37 degrees celcius with a UV of 10. The threat of throwing up had haunted her since this morning. Three deep breaths and a gulp of water quietened the ghost. Her dog lie on its side on her bedroom floor under the fan, resting. It, too, struggled sleeping in the heat.
The metal legs of the lap desk rest against her thighs, the lap desk itself presses into her stomach and forearms as she writes. Poetry. The soft clicking of the keyboard and the flow of which she types is hynotising to her. The rate of the letters appearing on the screen is like a drug to her mind. Dogs bark outside, upsetting her own. It wakes up and jumps upon her bed, staring out the window at the disruption. To no avail. It lies down at the end of her bed with her, resting some more.
Head resting in her hands, she finds herself bored. The meaningless cycle of constant routine drives her mad. It’s comfortable. But she’s bored. And with nothing to do about it, she won’t change. Still in place, forevermore – as a hamster runs and runs on a wheel, she will find herself repeating the same tasks she finds comfort in, reluctant to try something new. Hunger stings her insides… yet food isn’t what she’s after.139Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRlxKiLGW4D
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