Morning

By

Voice of My

Daria opened her eyes and stared up at her smooth grey ceiling, before turning from her back to lie on her right side. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep. The blankets were too heavy, and so she could not help but stay awake. An hour passed, and Daria continued to try to find more comfortable positions.

Eventually, the pale yellow door that connected her room to the house slit open, almost grabbing Daria's attention. An aggressive female hand shot into the room and flicked the light switch. Squinting at the light, Daria reluctantly sat up. From behind the door, she could hear her mothers voice telling her to get ready for school. She felt footsteps moving from her door towards the stairs, and the hollow thuds of someone descending the staircase.

Sadly, Daria placed her glasses on her face. Reluctant to leave her bed, she took an excessive amount of time to excruciatingly pull herself out of it. Standing up, Daria was overcome with a tired dizziness, and sat back down. She held the side of the bed and stared down at nothing, letting her tangled hair clot around her shoulders. Finally regaining her composure, she stood up a second time.

Still dizzy from fatigue, she limped towards the door. She halted suddenly when she heard a small cracking sound, and simultaneously felt a sharp edge press against the sole of her right foot. Looking down, Daria noted that she had stepped on a cassette tape she had left lying near her bed. It was broken, and a large piece of it was embedded in her sock.

With a look of irritation in her eyes, Daria stood, momentarily at a loss for what to do. After a slight hesitation, she lifted her right foot, and tried to pull the piece of plastic out of her sock. Standing on a single foot, Daria lost her balance and began to fall over backwards. In a frightened reflex she tried to spin through the air and catch herself, but only succeeded in slapping her shoulder into the framing of the bed instead of her back.

Daria gave a surprised cry, consumed by a childish sense of frustration which quickly deformed into a more bleak perspective of depression. Daria took the opportunity of sitting on the floor to remove the plastic shrapnel from her sole.

She finally succeeded in leaving her room. The first thing she saw in the hallway was her sister, Quinn, striding from the bathroom to the staircase. This helped to balance Daria's mood, and she did not hesitate to claim the bathroom for herself.

Seeing the fogged mirror, Daria made a vexed sound. The air was heavy with a wet heat. She shut the door and locked it before flipping a switch next to the light. A fan ignited loudly from the ceiling, and Daria removed her clothes. Placing her glasses on the wet counter and fumbling to find her hairbrush, she edged into the shower, turned on the water, and jerked to attention, despite her attempt to brace herself. The water was cold. She let the feeling of liquid ice pierce her awake. Finally, she twisted the metal knob in front of her, and the water slowly eased into warmth. Once she was comfortable and awake, Daria began to brush her hair slowly and deliberately. She grimaced in pain as she ripped small knots of tangled hair out of her scalp.

Opening the shower door, Daria half-heartedly tossed the comb towards the sinks, and missed. Without taking the effort to try and deduce where it had landed, Daria closed the shower door and her eyes. Lathering her hair with a scented shampoo, Daria shuffled from foot to foot before finally rinsing it out. She did not bother with conditioner. Finally, Daria scraped a bar of soap across her body obsessively and rinsed herself over again.

Exiting the shower, Daria walked up to the sink. She put her glasses on for the second time, and found her hair blower. She plugged it in and held it to the back of her head with her left hand. While doing this, Daria's right hand found her toothbrush, lay it out, and forced some toothpaste onto it. She continued brushing her teeth and blowing her hair like this, while staring blankly at the fogged mirror.

Finished with hygiene, Daria quickly dried herself with a heavy green towel, then realized she had forgotten her new change of clothes. Muttering, Daria put the yellow shorts and blue shirt she slept in back on, and headed to her room.

Walking into her closet, Daria quickly and easily threw off her sleeping attire and gathered her normal clothes. In two minutes, she was in her black pleated skirt and green blazer, tying her boots. Moments later she was walking downstairs and into the kitchen.

Daria entered quickly and silently, grabbing some bread and pushing it inside the family toaster. Her father and sister were at the table. Her mother was pacing, arguing with a phone. Standing with nothing to do, Daria was relieved when her toast appeared. She quickly grabbed it and smeared its surface with a modest amount of butter, before forcing it into her mouth. Already moving towards her backpack near the front door, she made one last swallowing motion of her throat, and her toast was eaten. She picked her backpack up and left the house.

The wind was dancing harshly, but it was not cold. Daria squinted under the bright sunlight, and shivered despite the warmth it provided. Walking on her un-stretched legs was irritating at first. She turned to one side of the abandoned sidewalk and began trotting at a faster pace. She moved her head back and forth slowly, taking in all of the unspectacular houses, with their similar cars and similar families huddled around their doors, or she looked through their windows and saw them eating the same breakfasts. She let out a depressed sigh, and focused on the cracked sidewalk instead.

With a clear lack of focus, Daria continued to inch her way along the sidewalk. Every so often she looked up and scanned the houses, but the were all boring and soft. Every two out of three houses were white. The rest were ambient pastel colours. They slowly blended together as Daria walked by, one never-ending stretch of painted wood.

A couple more minutes of dejected walking, and Daria's face softened slightly, with hidden gratitude. Her head was angled towards an ill kept clapboard house. It was painted off white, and there were cracks in the outside walls. Clumps of grass grew uncut, and large packs of dandelions grew poisonously without contest.

Daria turned into the walkway and eagerly approached the door. She calmly raised her hand and pressed the doorbell. After a moment, dull noises could be heard from inside the house. Jane Lane, dressed in her usual daily attire, still short breathed from running, and wet from a shower, opened the door slowly. The hot moisture curled off of her forehead and dissipated in the air. They friendly eye contact, and Daria said hello.