The Morning

The pitched whine of his alarm resonated in his head, but had become familiar enough to blend within tired thoughts and so he made no move. He drifted away from worldly woes and worry ringing foes, but his mother called for him.

It was the alarm. She didn’t like the alarm. That thing was in the way. He didn’t like her voice in the morning. Gathering strength he slid an arm from under the covered and reached…reached towards the windowsill. He felt the tip of the plastic, felt it, nudged it, searching fingers slid over the top, and then…and then

A chilling crack. A part of him mind remembered that he had opened the window, and another part told him it didn’t matter. The sound had gone far away. He pulled in his arm and fell back to sleep. Mother would sure be angry.


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