(link-reveal: "1. You wake up. It's morning. There's clouds outside and it's bright. The weather forecast says there's rain, but you wonder if it's true - the sun is too much for that. You don't see the splash of gray that threads the horizon; you aren't looking far enough.")[
2. You go downstairs. A half-empty carton of milk is one of the only things in the fridge, and you take it out. The pantry has a box of Cheerios, although it's more crumb than Cheerio, but still you pour yourself a bowl before opening the milk carton.]
(click: "2. You go downstairs. A half-empty carton of milk is one of the only things in the fridge, and you take it out. The pantry has a box of Cheerios, although it's more crumb than Cheerio, but still you pour yourself a bowl before opening the milk carton.")[3. The bowl is ceramic, and when you set it down on the dining table it clangs too loudly for comfort. You jump in your seat - it's too much. But you settle down and eat, listening for the muffled roar coming from the shower upstairs. You're not sure who it is. Your mother should be in the dining room, your sister has school, and your father should be working, but you haven't seen any of them and assume the best.]
(click: "3. The bowl is ceramic, and when you set it down on the dining table it clangs too loudly for comfort. You jump in your seat - it's too much. But you settle down and eat, listening for the muffled roar coming from the shower upstairs. You're not sure who it is. Your mother should be in the dining room, your sister has school, and your father should be working, but you haven't seen any of them and assume the best.")[4. All that's left is soggy cereal. You let the spoon hit the rim and wash everything down the drain, knowing your appetite can only last so long. A glance outside tells you the sun is still out, and the grass is as green as ever. You don't have time to take it in, so you climb back up the stairs and get set up. You tell yourself, //not much longer till the weekend.//]
(click: "4. All that's left is soggy cereal. You let the spoon hit the rim and wash everything down the drain, knowing your appetite can only last so long. A glance outside tells you the sun is still out, and the grass is as green as ever. You don't have time to take it in, so you climb back up the stairs and get set up. You tell yourself, not much longer till the weekend.")[5. Voices swim through your headphones. Derivatives, integrals, metaphors and planets and something about the election - you feel like you can recite them by heart. Absolute values, allusions and cross-chapter motifs, simulations of some planet that doesn't exist. Somehow, this is high school for you.]
(click: "5. Voices swim through your headphones. Derivatives, integrals, metaphors and planets and something about the election - you feel like you can recite them by heart. Absolute values, allusions and cross-chapter motifs, simulations of some planet that doesn't exist. Somehow, this is high school for you.")[6. You're not sure if you had lunch. You think you did, and there's an empty plate on the desk to signify that, but it's bare of any crumbs or stain and so you really have to wonder. But it's fine, the school day is over and it's 4pm and it's time for you to take a nap. You pass out with your laptop half-open next to you and pencils scattered across the sheets.]
(click: "6. You're not sure if you had lunch. You think you did, and there's an empty plate on the desk to signify that, but it's bare of any crumbs or stain and so you really have to wonder. But it's fine, the school day is over and it's 4pm and it's time for you to take a nap. You pass out with your laptop half-open next to you and pencils scattered across the sheets.")[7. You're awoken by your mother. //Wake up,// she yells, //you can't sleep the whole evening.// And so you wake. You have homework to do. You have college applications to work on. And you have a future to consider - a future outside of these four walls, past your blinds and somewhere that's preferably too far to recognize the shores of the Chesapeake. You pick up the pencil. The lead breaks. You write anyway.]
(click: "7. You're awoken by your mother. Wake up, she yells, you can't sleep the whole evening. And so you wake. You have homework to do. You have college applications to work on. And you have a future to consider - a future outside of these four walls, past your blinds and somewhere that's preferably too far to recognize the shores of the Chesapeake. You pick up the pencil. The lead breaks. You write anyway.")[8. It's time for dinner. You ask for five more minutes to finish your work and those five minutes are endless, but the papers in front of you are still blank. Graphite stains your fingers, but those are the only marks you've managed. //There's still time,// you convince yourself. You still have time to finish.]
(click: "8. It's time for dinner. You ask for five more minutes to finish your work and those five minutes are endless, but the papers in front of you are still blank. Graphite stains your fingers, but those are the only marks you've managed. There's still time, you convince yourself. You still have time to finish.")[9. Dinner passes quickly. You're not entirely sure what you ate. Water, definitely, and probably some form of rice. It tastes like nothing and you eat for the sake of eating. The conversation at the dinner table floats around you - somehow, you are the subject of it, but you are not prepared with any sort of answer. Something about what your plans are, and //Are you ready for us to read your essay?//. You shrug. //Next week,// you offer. As if you are ready to split yourself open to them.]
(click: "9. Dinner passes quickly. You're not entirely sure what you ate. Water, definitely, and probably some form of rice. It tastes like nothing and you eat for the sake of eating. The conversation at the dinner table floats around you - somehow, you are the subject of it, but you are not prepared with any sort of answer. Something about what your plans are, and Are you ready for us to read your essay?. You shrug. Next week, you offer. As if you are ready to split yourself open to them.")[[[10. It is midnight. You're in your bed, half-asleep with a novel in your lap. Words are just that, words, and they're maybe even letters and you wonder how the hell you ever learned to read. You blink and you stare and this has been the past five hours, page after page until you wonder if you've ever really known these things. You close the book and you tell yourself you'll figure it out tomorrow, when it's sunny outside and the rain is gone. You don't know when it started to rain, you just know that it began after you woke. But this is all tomorrow's problem, you decide, and so is everything else and you close your eyes. It's 3am, but you aren't checking the clock.
You're not even sure if you fall asleep that night, but at least your eyes are closed and the world is silent. Everything is somewhat stagnant until the next sunrise. You have nowhere to be, and nothing to do but rest your head on your pillow.
Just one thing to keep in mind:
Don't let the bedbugs bite.->1]]]