1: Routine
At 7:00 the sharp yet familiar sound of my alarm that always breaks my peace sounded, muffled by the silk pillow that my head rests heavily on. Mondays. Always seem to drag don't they? Oh well, I might as well
try
and be optimistic this week, after all what're the summer holidays going to be like if I can't even be happy on the last week of the year?
I get dressed in the awful grey uniform that somehow seems to make the liveliest of characters look dead inside. I don't understand the need to dehumanise the children of this generation, making them look the same, sound the same, if they wanted robots, why didn't they just build them? The tasteless carboard-like cereal quickly washes down my throat, I'm forcing it down, trying to let it touch my tongue for the shortest possible time, hopefully this will keep me going until tomorrow. I do try not to eat anything, but recently I've been struggling to keep up. It's probably the stress. As I reach for the cool silver handle to the mahogany front door, I hear the somehow warming yet frail voice of my mother, "Have fun at school." This statement is always lacking in the usual emotion that you would hear in most other parent figures, ever since my father died, my mother hasn't been the same. Creak, creak, creak. The sound of her rocking chair haunting the house like a ghost, everlasting and eerie. She never leaves that chair, she just stares at the wall in silence.
I think about it as my feet take the daily path to the bleak concrete building that I have wasted almost 6 years at. I'm most likely going to prison for life anyway. The security team are at the gat and I look at my watch, 8:01am. I'm late. I must have been walking slow this morning, ordinarily, I would be here ten minutes early
