Wake Up CallThe yellow-orange ball of energy that is known as the sun grazed effortlessly against the reddening horizon, the morning sunrise was coming into play.
It was realistically seen like a sizzling egg yolk came into contact with a piping hot skillet--fearful, yet always prepared for worse cause scenarios.
What if the egg yolk slipped off the skillet and landed face-up on the cloud-white stove and or countertop?
What if the skillet became so hot that the egg yolk bursted open suddenly and spat out towards the consumer's face and blistered the human flesh and totaled the contacted skin?
Enough of breakfast food malarkey, let's get on with the real story.
Melodical chirping spilled into Grayson's room as he slept, his pale skinned face buried deep into the comfortable piece of cloth and padding; black strands of hair coated his well-shaped head and covered up most of his face due to its length.
The time was 7 AM--oh, such an ungodly time to wake up during the morning, especially on a weekend, but this was the usual time Grayson would wake up: considering the fact that the frail body that belonged to the sickly pale, dark haired, 18 year old male required 12 hours of sleep since he would lay awake at night... wondering why the hell he kept on living with his shunned life.
A few seconds passed, but they were short lived as the blaring sound of an alarm clock rang and screamed into the sleeping figure's ears, quite similar to the echoing sound of gunshots.
Tired groans and a yawn erupted into the blaring atmosphere; a firm slam of the hand came into play and the alarm clock silenced--what a dreadful sight that forsaken alarm clock was to Grayson... it meant that Grayson had to actually get up from the comforts of his bed and participate in the unnerving aspects of life.
Besides, the alarm clock served as a better substitute than the living life forms in his humble abode that he called his home... his parents and his older sister would just dub him with negative slurs and ruin his day right at... 7:03 AM.
Grayson stretched his exhausted limbs out and heaved a yawn of discomfort and proceeded to walk... no, no, crawl to the bathroom.
He causally cleansed his body in the shower and combed out his wet bed of hair once he was done, gazing into the fogged up mirror that was imperfect just like he was: cracked, meek, and disheveled.
I mean, just look at that mirror--it had shards of glass at the corners, it was rusted amongst the frame, and was foggy beyond believe even if it was dry and cleaned several times!
Grayson tossed a gray striped sweater that varied with wolf gray and cyan blue, a cyan blue beanie, a white undergarment that he wore underneath his clothing, a pair of black skinny jeans, white socks, and black punk boots.
I know what you may be thinking, he's just a sentimental "emo" boy who belives his life is drastically pointless and that I'm just overreacting with a mixture of meaningless words.
Enough of that...
Once he was clean enough to be presentable to his parents, Grayson stepped out of his room and trotted over to the living room...
his waking life now truly begins.