Tick.
Tock.
RINGGG.
My alarm clock blares, the sound mixing with the loud honks of cars, the quarrels of bystanders, and the buzzing of neon billboard lights.
I rub my eyes with the back of my bony hand, sitting up slowly until my spine sinks into the bedrest. My room is still half-asleep too—dim, dusty light leaking through the blinds, the air kinda stale.
Then I hear it.
That typical scratching at my window.
Of course.
Kiko.
He must've slipped out again last night, and now he's out there acting like I'm the one inconveniencing him.
I lazily crawl out of bed and stalk over to the window, the wooden floorboards squeaking under my feet. As I roll up the blinds, Kiko—perched on the ledge—stares back at me with those wide, sage-green eyes. His warm, light-orange fur is a little scruffed up, probably from scampering through bushes, and his cute ink-black nose looks damp from the humid weather.
I stare back at him, my expression half-fond, half-unamused. I let out a dry huff and slide open the window, the cold air hitting my face, biting against my warm brown skin.
Kiko immediately jumps in, nuzzling his cold nose against my palm. I'm not sure if he means it as a greeting or if he's just leeching off my body heat—I never know with that cat.
A small smile forms on my two-toned lips as my fingers softly scratch behind Kiko's ears.
"'Mornin', Kiko," I whisper gently.
I carefully pick him up and set him onto my bed—something I'm definitely not allowed to do. In my defense, the kitty's cold.
I throw on my usual attire as I stand in front of my lightly chipped mirror, my posture slightly slouched—Kiko purring softly, curled up on my messy bed.
Baggy, vintage-wash low-rise jeans. An off-white, loose long-sleeve undershirt. A black oversized band tee from some obscure group with a name I'm pretty sure you'd only see on a grimy liquor bottle. Beat-up black Converse. And my fresh cherry-red wolfcut braids—the ones I did without my mom's permission in the back of a local Wendy's (best use of free will and birthday money).
I do a quick fit check—I'm totally eating up this outfit—before grabbing my black, pin-covered messenger bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
I make my way downstairs, actively avoiding and collecting sewing needles tangled in the stair covering. I'll remember to give them back to Mom later. She's always losing them—must be normal for seamstresses.
I saunter into the kitchen, the wooden floorboards whining under my feet.
The kitchen is a biohazard.
Dirty dishes pile up in the sink. Sewing spools are littered carelessly across the floor. A pink sticky note is stuck to the cabinet beside the fridge:
I'm working early today, sorry 4 the mess — Mom.
I roll my eyes at the note.
I crouch down to open the fridge. It's usually empty. I always pray Mom will finally remember to stock it, but she never does.
I browse through my options:
Moldy carrots (GROSS!)
Shitty wheat bread (Eww…)
Expired yogurt (FML)
"Typical," I mutter bitterly, shutting the fridge.
I shove my hand into the pocket of my loose jeans, rummaging around for loose change. After digging for a moment, I manage to scrape up:
-A ratty five-dollar bill.
-Two quarters.
- A stick of strawberry-flavored gum.
Looks like I'm getting greasy ass fries and a depressingly cheap burger for lunch.
Yay…
I threw the cash into my bag and chewed on the stick of gum before heading out.
And yes, I remembered to lock the door this time- can't have Kiko escaping again.
I strolled down the grimy street, sidestepping roaches, cracked glass, and trash bags ripped open from last night. The city's already awake. I wish I was still asleep.
As I weaved through the bustling sidewalks, I put on my white, sticker-assaulted headphones to block out the noisy chatters, conversions and just everyone in general.
Nothing's new by Rio Romeo played through my headphones, the lyrics hitting way too close to home.
As the line "Nothing's new" repeated like a mantra, I couldn't deny the truth in them.
My life is replaying the same scene over and over.
Nothing's ever new.
I tiredly shoved my hands into my pockets and let the city swallow me whole.