Morning

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Not even a single ray of sunshine woke her up, as she had banished them from entering her room, especially when she was asleep. No, she did not like it when the sun would point his flashlight right on her face, first thing in the morning. Since heat was a form of energy, and would activate her surrounding molecules, spoiling her mood. She preferred a calm, cool morning where one doesn’t have to strain to open one’s eyes, because of all the light. She allowed only enough light to brighten up the room, just so it looks like it’s morning. And the blinds on her window was her semi permeable membrane, which only allowed the required to enter her kingdom. She opened her eyes and stared at her fan, which for some reason reminded her of a potter’s wheel. She could hear the utensils chattering in the kitchen. And in the hall, Arnab Goswami was shouting at somebody, as if that somebody was his teenager kid who had misbehaved. You say something, that’s disrespect and mannerless, and if you do open your mouth, then you’re not responding. Either way you will be shouted at. She just stared at blank space – configuring windows, like her laptop would say, when she turns it on. Ahh…. It’s a Sunday, she thought. Which meant she’s going to stay in bed for another hour, listening to music and being lazy. Sunday was her no-work-all-play day. It’d always been that way. She found it difficult to study on a Sunday. Somebody who does that is an alien from another galaxy for her. When she was little, she would wake up at around eight in the morning. Her mother would be still asleep – that was her mother’s only day off. She would go to the guestroom, which was also her playroom and run to her toy bag. It was her long lost friend whom she had not seen for a week. Then she would make up stories using her imagination, and play with her toys. Till her mom would call her for breakfast. But as she grew up, she was forced to study on Sundays – not that she liked it. So she preferred to finish her homework on Sundays, and enjoy rest of the day. That was her solution. But Monday mornings always horrified her – she always had the feeling that she’s forgotten something. Something that will hit her, like a tree she didn’t notice while walking. A noise from her door, brought her back to her room, disrupting her time travel. Good morning. Breakfast’s ready.

(creative writing)

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