This is the first draft of “wake up”. I am using this story and the next few to get back in the swing of writing since I haven’t written creatively for myself in a good two years. So if you want to take a look at this story, go ahead. It’s not good but It’s real and I’ll upload images to show how long each part took to make:

Sarah rubbed her eyes and stretched her back as she sat in bed. She had to make sure not to knock her shins on the side of her bunk. Nevertheless, she managed to creep down the stairs and not wake up her brother sleeping with an open mouth and unshaven face.

She dragged herself through her morning routine while her eyes were half open. She felt a stabbing pain at the base of her neck that she couldn’t quite shake. She found herself sliding into the first chair at the kitchen counter. Her head rested on the palm of her hand as she watched her grandmother flip a pancake in the skillet and then onto a plate until the tower of pancakes looked lopsided. One after the other, the pancakes stacked up until it looked like it was towering over her grandma, but she rubbed her eyes, and the tower shrank to a manageable height again.

When her plate was placed in front of her, a gentle kiss was planted on the crown of her head. She lathered her breakfast pastries with golden syrup and smiled lazily at the sight of the feast. Her head was heavy, and the pain in her neck cast a spell over her eyes.

“Open your eyes,” a whisper rushed past her eyes.

Not bothering to take heed of the warning, she scarfed down her food and made her way through the rest of the morning. She was in the car’s front seat before her brother washed his face, not that she’d ever seen the boy use soap. Her granddad had already switched the car radio to his favourite tune. “Strawberry Alarm Clock” by  Incense and Peppermints. This was her grandpa's go-to song for as long as little Sarah could remember. He didn’t listen to anything else. In his words, “music died after the summer of 67”.

Her brother was the first to leave the car. His usual crew fetched him a few steps from the rusted Packard Custom Eight Victoria. Like his music taste, the former veteran’s taste in automobiles was also gated by the 1960s. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful machine with as many memories as she, if not more.

“Thanks, paps,” she said and rushed to the hall. It was assembly today, and the last thing she needed was Miss Veronique scolding her for missing another weekly assembly. Another strike, and she’d be off the geometry team. That was her only ticket out of this town, so she couldn’t let it go because of something as unimportant as a tardy slip on a Saturday morning. She gulped when she saw miss Veronique’s beat-up old Volkswagen in the school parking lot. You’d think someone driving around in a pink Beetle would be more cheery.

She managed to slip into the school well enough without attracting unwanted attention. Perhaps Robert and his gang of a half brains were taking a sick day today. With a sigh of relief, she scampered along the laminated floor and took a sharp turn only to come to a shrieking half in front of the double doors to the school’s hall. The piercing pain at the base of her neck was like an inferno injection into her cerebellum, and she needed to go to the bathroom and splash some water on her face. But, of course, a little pain would not shackle her to oblivion forever.

She jetted towards the rest room but a teacher, the devil herself, stopped Sarah.

“Assembly is that way, miss Murphy”, she sneered.

Sarah clenched her fists and then her eyes.

“I r-really need t-to go the bathroom, ma’am”, she whispered. Her teacher tried to step in her way, but she side-stepped and scurried to the nearest bathroom stall. Her heart was beating so fast, the pace of it almost knocked her off her feet.

She rushed to the countertop and slapped water onto her face. With her eyes screwed shut, she took a few ragged breaths and then lifted her head to stare at her reflection. She stared at herself and wondered why the world made her feel so out of place amongst her peers. She couldn’t remember anyone smiling at her: only scowls, tight lips and dead eyes.

She moved to turn away, but something was wrong. Her reflection stepped when turned or when she stepped back, or when she moved to rub her eyes and paint her face in ice-cold water.

Her reflection only stared at her with a slack jaw and clenched hand. Then slowly, as if someone had turned the dial for the first time in 70 years, her reflection raised its arms and placed its fists beside each eye. She made a circle with her forefinger and thumb and put it beside each respective eye. She opened her fingers. And she closed them. Open. Close. Open. Close.

On and on, she repeated the gesture until Sarah remembered how to move her limbs and turned her tail to run. Her reflection finally turned as well, still opening and closing and repeating the gesture until Sarah was out of sight. The red-haired girl had never run so fast in her life. She sprinted across the laminated flooring and almost flew, shooting into the great hall. She entered through the school at prayer, but the weight of the silence she entered into, but everyone’s eyes were open and their jaws unlocked. Their hands were beside their head, and their fingers perfectly positioned to open and close, open and close.

At this point, Sarah started to cry, but nothing came out. No tears and no sound. She turned frantically, but the pain at the base of her skull was becoming too much for her to bare. She turned her body once more to run, but her brother was beside her and Miss Veronique to her other side. Their eyes were dull, and their mouths slack, but their fingers never stopped. Open. Close. Open close.

Finally, Sarah screamed and jolted awake.

“That’s right, Sarah, keep your eyes open. Stay with me, okay,” a faint voice spoke from the light.

After a few laborious blinks, she managed to see her grandma hovering over her head. Then, something pulled her back down when she tried to sit up. She lifted her hands and pulled at the seatbelt, strapping her down and turned to see her brother staring back at her with an open mouth and cloudy eyes. Her grandfather was further away, with only his tailored trousers and suede shoes visible in front of her. The rest was through the dashboard of the yellow beauty.

When she looked ahead of her, another car was coughing out dark smoke with a dim ember sleeping around it. It was a beat-up old Beatle with a pink paint job and far too many dents to work. Sarah immediately looked back at her grandmother’s soot-covered fact with tear streaks carved through black residue, and she couldn’t help but cry. Only then did the ambulance siren and fire brigade enter her ears, along with a song she’ll never forget.

“Incense and peppermints, meaningless nouns Turn on, tune in, and turn your eyes around. Look at yourself, look at yourself, yeah, girl. Look at yourself, look at yourself, yeah, girl, yeah, yeah….”