Angel Of Dawn

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Blaire 》

My eyes widen upon seeing the clock, 9:46 am. I fling my bag over my shoulder and I sprint out of the cafeteria in flash speed. I quickly pass students that flock around everywhere in the school halls. My sneakers squeak on the school tiles as I dodge two kissing couples against the lockers. Literally devouring each other.

Freaking gross.

You know what would be wonderful, though? Being able to lucid dream every time you fall asleep. Being able to control your subconscious whilst dreaming will always be something I find wonderful and euphoric. Unfortunately for me, I'm still trying to lucid dream. It hasn't happened yet, due to my lack of sleep. If I want to lucid dream, then I'm going to need a decent sleeping schedule. Which I absolutely don't have. Like at all. I don't even remember the last time I've had eight hours of sleep like any ordinary individual.

I need to sleep first to dream. Then I can worry about lucid dreaming later. Wait, why was I running?

Oh, right, I'm like twenty minutes late.

Right now I need to cancatervate every ounce of unnecessary sorrow I have for myself because I have a bigger issue to focus on at the moment. I freaking have calculus, like right now and I'm late. Not to mention the homework that made me stay up all night to do. Plus, i suck at it. I fell asleep at around 4 am or something, I don't even remember, my vision was all melted together by then. Thus waking up thirty minutes late and I missed making my father breakfast.

Luckily though, I managed to make it quickly before he woke up. If he were to find out about this, God knows how upset he'll be with me. So after making him an acceptable, respectable breakfast with eggs and a croissant on the side that i preheated, I had to physically drag myself out of the kitchen without eating my father's food.

I like to call his breakfast royalty-like because the butter baked croissant just has that bedazzle and it makes everything just look too professional. Especially when it has some strawberry jam on the side, just the thought of how delicious that is makes my stomach whine like a dead whale. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I fled out of there as soon as I was done with his breakfast.

The pinnacle did its job splendidly. I'm sure my father will have the biggest hang over when he wakes up. That shit tastes nasty, at least for me. I took a sip from his bottle once behind his back and it's safe to say I didn't like the way it tingled down my throat. For others, they'd say something in the lines of 'it tastes good and it makes you forget, its a win-win.' That's what my mom said once.

That's not what I thought when I tried it. How can people get addicted to such I'll flavored things?

It's also safe to say I got a beating for it. It wasn't even worth it for God's sake! I just vomited what I had drunk and I got beat for it. I was like eleven? Twelve maybe? I don't remember. But I do remember swearing off all alcoholics that night.

I rush down the school hallways. My sneaker making the same horrible squeaking sound as I round the corner in front of a bunch of people standing next to their lockers, trying to pass time. Oh what I would give to just stand next to them and ignore the angry Mr Jonas. But I can't, and I want to cry now. His class is terrible! It passes by like a freaking snail that got lost in the middle of a blizzard.

Imagine how long it would take that snail to find his home again.

Exactly, they're that long. It's tormenting how much I dislike his classes. Who even likes calculus in the first place?

It's an utter waste of my golden time.

So instead of going to the cafeteria with flocks of the friends I don't have, I end up right in front of Mr Jonas's class with my hair wild due to me running like I'm mimicking michelangelo when he sees pizza and my breath so unstable, my body's having an internal hurricane.