Early Mornings By: Bailey Kellenberger

         5:15. The alarm rang. Time to get up. There was a still chill that filled her body as she removed her down comforter and placed her feet on the hard wood floors that felt like ice. She remained on the edge of her bed contemplating whether she should crawl back under the covers and continue her dream of the life she wished she had or if she should throw on her favorite pairs of jeans, go make the coffee and get ready for work.

           Although the coffee tasted like lard, she managed to finish the cup she had poured for herself. She slung her worn out leather bag over her aching body and hustled out the door. The streets were filled with styrofoam cups and mustard yellow shopping bags. Rats ran down and through the rainstorm drain. A dark grey cloud haunted the day. As she forced herself to saunter down the broken sidewalk, she saw a decrepit women beating our an old rug over her firescape. The old womens eyes were sharp and harsh. They told a story of hardships, pain, and heartbreak at just one glance. She prayed that she would never end up like that. She wanted more for her life. She wanted to travel, explore, and make a difference. Instead she was stuck working early morning shifts at the local diner and late night shifts cleaning used motel rooms. She often wondered if she would ever escape. She felt as if she was on a roller coaster that seemed to only go downwards. She was consumed within her thoughts of what she would one day become when she began to cross the street. Two bright lights appeared and a long horn rang throughout the air.
           5:15. The alarm rang. Time to get up.