I don't have an alarm clock because I don't need an alarm clock. Its once in a blue moon that I have a restful night's sleep. Between the gun shots, my neighbor's screaming brats and the nightmares, I'm lucky if I sleep at all. But hey, I'm not complaining.

I roll over and sit up, my feet slapping against the cold, cracked, wooden floors. The clock across the room is blinking 12:00AM. I rub my eyes, wondering what time it is, but not really caring. I ponder my situation, momentarily, trying to remember the evening prior. I get nowhere fast and decided to forgo the endeavor. I note the lack of crying children above and below me, and the fact that my phone isn't ringing off the hook. Usually, the boss would be calling me by now, busting my chops for being late to work again. Must be a holiday. I fucking hate holidays.

Gracelessly, I make my way into the kitchen. There is half a pot of coffee already made, though I know not how old it may be. Pouring myself a cup, I take a seat on one of my three rickety chairs. The table before me is covered in dirty plates and discarded, unopened bills. The coffee is cold and tastes of burnt plastic. Downing it, I get myself another cup full and wander over to the window. Pulling back the moth-eaten cloth obscuring my view, I gaze out at the world beyond.

I am assaulted by a barrage of light and sound. The sky is sunny and clear, the air warm and humid. Children play in the street. Prideful flags dot stoops and terraces. The melody of laughter drift up to my ears, reminding me of days long past. I listen for but a moment, before enthusiastically slamming the window shut. I return to bed, hoping my nightmares are more enjoyable.

I fucking hate holidays.  

--Last edited by St. Christopher on 2009-02-10 22:13:06 --