HOME | DD

Description
It's three in the morning, and still as blue-black as midnight outside. Stars, city lights, cars, and planes up in the blue-blue-black sky greet my tired eyes. A growling sigh. It's too cold for this shit.
The bed complains in a weary creak of tired springs and metal sliding against metal as I drop back into cooled sheets. A shiver-shiver-shake later, and I'm bundled back up, wrapped tight in the comforter, pillow tucked tightly under my head. Eyes on the green digits, watching the numbers flip by. Six am. Up and at 'em time.

Oddly enough, I'm shocked at the silence in the building. Not a single floorboard squeaks, not a single spring grates against the bed's metal frames in other rooms. The door on the other side of the bathroom is still closed from last nights shower, the toilet paper someone crumpled up and dropped, still in the middle of the floor.

I brush my teeth, and the water sounds horridly loud. I turn it off, wander out into the lounge, eyes seeking the bus schedule in the dim light. Same time it's always been. A toothpaste laced sigh. Spit, rinse, tongue scrub- repeat.

7:20. Where did the morning go? Stumble-rush around the room. Dig a pair of jeans from the wash pile. Sniff, shrug. Spritz a few pumps of body spray, wave the denim through the scented mist. Ahh, better. Yank on, grumbling at the stiff cuffs.
Repeat the process on your favorite, dingy sweat shirt, yanking it over your pajama shirt—you'll change later. Right now, you're barely on time.

7:30- stuff bare feet into mud caked shoes, scowl at the pile of dried dirt they leave when your shoe gets caught on the door. Trip, then remember, as you're tilting forwards, that you almost forgot your keys. Your foot shoots out, kicks open the closing door. You stomp back into the now dark room. Scowl at your backpack, the cell phone and glasses still sitting innocently in a pile on your bed, nestled happily in your mussed comforter. Sling on the bag, shove on the glasses, drop the phone into the pouch of your sweatshirt. Proceed to leave.

Realize, last second, that you still forgot your keys. You hop back two steps and shove your fist through the nearly closed door. It pops back open and slams against the opposite wall. Cringe. Pray that the neighbors and people downstairs don't complain about the noise. Scoop up your keys, deposit safely alongside your phone. Nod at the empty room, close the door- firmly. Nearly scream, as you turn and find a still half-asleep suite-mate eyeing you. She scratches at her messy head, and stumbles past you, into the bathroom. Chuckle, and quickly sweep your own still messy, unbrushed hair into a high, tangled tail. You slip out your phone and check the time. Shit.

7:37. Yank open the court yard side door, and mumble apologies to the grumpy looking girl standing on the landing. She crosses her arms, rolls her eyes and starts down the stairs. You make a face at her back, then hurry to catch up. A quick stop on the next landing for the beastly-tall boy, and the next thing you know, the biting winter wind is scorching your cheeks, frosting your lips, freezing your eyes and drying your mouth. Gape for a moment at the pure horridness of the still barely lit morning sky, then hurry up the small hill to catch the other two.

7:42- sighing at the blissful warmth and tasty scent of food, you eye the muffins. Not looking too good this morning, the cranberry ones leave a terrible aftertaste you usually can only get rid of with a whole cup of coffee. Scowl at the red flecked muffins and fill your plate with the usual pineapple, potatoes, sausage and red grapes. A cup of cold water and you're sliding into a booth. The boy grumbles at you when you make him move out of the booth so you can get a forgotten fork. He grumbles again when you poke him with the bit of metal. Finally, he stands. You slide back in, greet the suite-mate who's just stumbled over, and dig in.

8:05, it's coffee time. You drop your fork into the bucket filled with blue water and narrowly avoid the splash. Two inches black magic, a million French vanilla. Two sugars, four creamers, a lil' stir and you're off. Standing in the bitter cold is a chore, and one you dispise. The bus is never on time, and there's always too many people. You hold your finger over the opening of your coffee cup so it wont splash all over the place, and jostle your way onto the warm, overstuffed bus. The crazy old man eyes those standing over his shoulder, shrugs, closes the doors with a puff of cold air, and careens up the driveway.

8:20. Feet firmly covered in freezing slush, the mansion where your classes are looks beautiful covered in snow. Your eyes dart to the end, observing the still iced over windows of your classroom. It's going to be freezing in there. You squeak, slip, stomp and slide your way across the random tiles of the courtyard, up the marble steps and into the toasty warm mansion. Ahhh, better. You push up your sleeves, hurry to class and sit for twenty more minutes.

8:40- everyone's finally there and with a great, heaving sigh, the teacher closes the door and opens her mouth, the lecture of the day balancing delicately on the edge of her lips.

Description
It's three in the morning, and still as blue-black as midnight outside. Stars, city lights, cars, and planes up in the blue-blue-black sky greet my tired eyes. A growling sigh. It's too cold for this shit.
The bed complains in a weary creak of tired springs and metal sliding against metal as I drop back into cooled sheets. A shiver-shiver-shake later, and I'm bundled back up, wrapped tight in the comforter, pillow tucked tightly under my head. Eyes on the green digits, watching the numbers flip by. Six am. Up and at 'em time.

Oddly enough, I'm shocked at the silence in the building. Not a single floorboard squeaks, not a single spring grates against the bed's metal frames in other rooms. The door on the other side of the bathroom is still closed from last nights shower, the toilet paper someone crumpled up and dropped, still in the middle of the floor.

I brush my teeth, and the water sounds horridly loud. I turn it off, wander out into the lounge, eyes seeking the bus schedule in the dim light. Same time it's always been. A toothpaste laced sigh. Spit, rinse, tongue scrub- repeat.

7:20. Where did the morning go? Stumble-rush around the room. Dig a pair of jeans from the wash pile. Sniff, shrug. Spritz a few pumps of body spray, wave the denim through the scented mist. Ahh, better. Yank on, grumbling at the stiff cuffs.
Repeat the process on your favorite, dingy sweat shirt, yanking it over your pajama shirt—you'll change later. Right now, you're barely on time.

7:30- stuff bare feet into mud caked shoes, scowl at the pile of dried dirt they leave when your shoe gets caught on the door. Trip, then remember, as you're tilting forwards, that you almost forgot your keys. Your foot shoots out, kicks open the closing door. You stomp back into the now dark room. Scowl at your backpack, the cell phone and glasses still sitting innocently in a pile on your bed, nestled happily in your mussed comforter. Sling on the bag, shove on the glasses, drop the phone into the pouch of your sweatshirt. Proceed to leave.

Realize, last second, that you still forgot your keys. You hop back two steps and shove your fist through the nearly closed door. It pops back open and slams against the opposite wall. Cringe. Pray that the neighbors and people downstairs don't complain about the noise. Scoop up your keys, deposit safely alongside your phone. Nod at the empty room, close the door- firmly. Nearly scream, as you turn and find a still half-asleep suite-mate eyeing you. She scratches at her messy head, and stumbles past you, into the bathroom. Chuckle, and quickly sweep your own still messy, unbrushed hair into a high, tangled tail. You slip out your phone and check the time. Shit.

7:37. Yank open the court yard side door, and mumble apologies to the grumpy looking girl standing on the landing. She crosses her arms, rolls her eyes and starts down the stairs. You make a face at her back, then hurry to catch up. A quick stop on the next landing for the beastly-tall boy, and the next thing you know, the biting winter wind is scorching your cheeks, frosting your lips, freezing your eyes and drying your mouth. Gape for a moment at the pure horridness of the still barely lit morning sky, then hurry up the small hill to catch the other two.

7:42- sighing at the blissful warmth and tasty scent of food, you eye the muffins. Not looking too good this morning, the cranberry ones leave a terrible aftertaste you usually can only get rid of with a whole cup of coffee. Scowl at the red flecked muffins and fill your plate with the usual pineapple, potatoes, sausage and red grapes. A cup of cold water and you're sliding into a booth. The boy grumbles at you when you make him move out of the booth so you can get a forgotten fork. He grumbles again when you poke him with the bit of metal. Finally, he stands. You slide back in, greet the suite-mate who's just stumbled over, and dig in.

8:05, it's coffee time. You drop your fork into the bucket filled with blue water and narrowly avoid the splash. Two inches black magic, a million French vanilla. Two sugars, four creamers, a lil' stir and you're off. Standing in the bitter cold is a chore, and one you dispise. The bus is never on time, and there's always too many people. You hold your finger over the opening of your coffee cup so it wont splash all over the place, and jostle your way onto the warm, overstuffed bus. The crazy old man eyes those standing over his shoulder, shrugs, closes the doors with a puff of cold air, and careens up the driveway.

8:20. Feet firmly covered in freezing slush, the mansion where your classes are looks beautiful covered in snow. Your eyes dart to the end, observing the still iced over windows of your classroom. It's going to be freezing in there. You squeak, slip, stomp and slide your way across the random tiles of the courtyard, up the marble steps and into the toasty warm mansion. Ahhh, better. You push up your sleeves, hurry to class and sit for twenty more minutes.

8:40- everyone's finally there and with a great, heaving sigh, the teacher closes the door and opens her mouth, the lecture of the day balancing delicately on the edge of her lips.