HOME -Bedroom
Amelia woke to the soft sunlight seeping gently through her eyelids.
She nervously checked her phone (she was always paranoid about the alarm not going off), but no, it was 6.10. She still had about 20 minutes.
She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling.
She probably should, like, get up. Do something productive. Or at least get dressed, be less worried about getting to school late.
Truth be told however, she couldn’t be arsed. Not when dread was festering in her chest, extending its poisonous weariness to her limbs, ,to her heart, to her mind which seemed to grow duller every day.
So she layed there like an existential starfish and waited, oh so long, for her phone go off its jarring screech.
She snoozed exactly three times as per usual, sighed, then pried herself off the bed.
Or at least, tried to pry herself off the bed. Her heart appeared to be was glued to the mattress. Actually, it was as it was clinging on to it for dear life.
She could almost hear it pleading:
Don’t go. Please.
“We don’t have much of a choice, you know” she muttered.
We could sleep. Pretend to be sick.
“Not really. Dad has caught up with that now”
Then we could-
She shoved herself up, cutting off that thought.
She clutched the cool iron railing on her bed and dragged herself to the edge of the bed, then pushed herself off, stumbling to her feet.
Another brave effort to resist the ever blackening rotting of her soul that would go thoroughly unnoticed.
She got herself an apple, a banana, strawberries and a bag of cookies, then sat down and ate slowly.
When she was little she had always laughed when her mother said food was best enjoyed slowly; especially considering than when Amelia tried that she would snatch food off her plate before she was done eating, and she would be hungry for the rest of the day. At least she could never do that again, now.
But now food was her moment of peace. Even if cookies had become tasteless, she forced them down her throat without chewing, like a snake.
No one could take those cookies away from here now; even if they were tasteless, even if they stretched her stomach until she felt like retching.
No one. Not even mom, or Crawley.
She brushed her teeth, dressed herself, and walked out the door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
