Another old story

I also wrote this a couple weeks ago for English class. I normally don't post all of my assigned papers from class, but I liked this one. It might help you focus on something other than that beautiful image that had you think of last time. You know the lovely smell that grass has right after a rainstorm? Yeah, imagine that for a second. If you don't know what I'm talking about all I can say is read my last post.

Moving swiftly along, I give you the story.

Cycle paper two

The soft sound of silence rings in my ears as I drift peacefully through the night. My eyes open slowly to reveal three red numbers glowing faintly in the dark. 5:59 blinks into 6:00. As I roll over to go back to sleep, I go rigid with fear. D-day. My door is flung open with a bang to reveal my mother, clad in a nightgown. “Get up!” she yells as she strides off towards her bedroom. I turn back to my clock, the little devil taunting me as I stumble out of bed. It is way too early in the morning.

I awaken for the second time today, water streaming over my head as I stand in the shower. I shake my hair and activate “morning mode”. Washing, eating and dressing, I rush through my daily routine. I take four pills, two to combat my cold and two to put at rest the pain in my legs. I grab my bag and head towards the car. My mother is already waiting as I close the door and sink into my seat. The radio indicates that we missed our 6:30 scheduled departure time by 6 minutes. My mother asks if it was really necessary for me to change into the early English class as I look down the lightless road. It is way too early in the morning.

As we turn onto the highway, the car slips into its regular pattern. The talking, chatting and staying awake are quickly overtaken by silence, combated by the radio news. I lean back in my chair and think about my math test at 8:30. I awaken for the third time today as we pull into Punahou. I say goodbye to my mother and get out of the car, headphones in ears and iPod in hand. The small clock reads 7:27 as I seek the comfort of room P205. I enter the room and collapse in my chair. As I greet Mrs. Davis and my fellow students I am once more filled with dread. Two small words, printed on the board. Words that would be quite benign at 10:30 suddenly pierce the deepest and most tired part of my soul. “Free Write”. It is way too early in the morning.

It is 4:30 PM and I leave Robotics Club, head full of ideas of joining the team next year. I greet my mother as I enter the car. I enquire after her day as she waits for a gap in the traffic to merge onto Wilder Street. As I respond to her similar questions, I feel the movement of the car point out how tired I am. I attempt to form a response to this new found idea of sleep, but I feel my eyelids begin to droop. I begin to think, “If I can just stay awake now, I can sleep at. . .” I awaken for the fourth time today to find the car empty and my mother walking up to the house. Groggily, I unbuckle my seat belt and grab my bag, looking forward to writing my English cycle paper. My brain can barely think, let alone write a story. It is way too early in the . . . afternoon . . . ?

T-minus 7 hours until English class today and the cycle paper still stands aloof from my completed homework. I rack the right side of my brain, searching for an idea. The more critical left side had fallen asleep hours ago. Even one line I could build off of would be great. “But what?” I find myself thinking again. I sigh as I lean back in my wheelie chair, wishing for sleep. It is way too early in the morning.