Creative Writing: Bumble Through Life
How To: Bumble Through Life
I groan, and try to retreat back into whatever nonsensical dream I was inhabiting. But it’s too late. And I can no longer cling to the last shreds of sleep as my rest is ripped from me harshly by my mum, shouting upstairs. Like a falcon screeching a threatening cry before it strikes its helpless prey, inevitably bringing death. Perhaps more like a song bird giving a warning call before danger arrives. Maybe just like a mother getting real tired of yelling at her “lazy” offspring. I sigh, realising I still haven’t answered and if I don’t soon I’d be suffering a fate worse than the falcon’s prey. I mumble something completely unintelligible and hear my mum stride away from the bottom of the stairs, relieved, either …show more content…
I untangle the covers from my legs, immediately regretting it and missing the warm, secure cocoon I’d bundled myself in, protection from the outside world of “responsibilities” and “achievement”. I shiver then look around for my iPod, finding the earphones wound around my neck like a python and only a little less dangerous. It’s no big deal though, it happens a lot, most nights in fact, that I wake up in the precarious position of nearly choking myself in my sleep. Crisis averted. Maybe not. I can hear my dad, talking overly loudly as always, moving downstairs. NO. He’s started thumping upstairs, bellowing as he goes.
“Bumble! Becks! Becca!”
Nonononono. Hide now. I look around before realising I’m still in bed and throw my covers over myself. I begin to revel in the familiar feeling of comfort. Then he bursts into my room to “love” me, try torture. I endure it unwillingly as he pets me, swallowing the urge to yell that I’m not the dog, knowing it’d bring trouble. Eventually he leaves, satisfied he’s annoyed me enough before I’ve even got up. I snuggle down again and glance at my clock. I curse silently; I’m going to be late if I don’t move. …show more content…
That or improvise. Both have helped me dawdle through 16 years of life so far. I chuck myself from my bed, momentarily forgetting I have a bunk bed and feeling that odd sensation of falling I’ve never gotten used to. That followed by the large, dull thud my body makes as my back breaks my fall, leaving me breathless, and I’m definitely awake. And up-ish, small victory, I guess. I stumble to my feet gasping as I try to replace the air knocked out of me by my fight with the floor. Once my lungs have resumed semi-normal function I shuffle over to the door wondering why everything is super blurry. Glasses. I stagger over to my massive, messy muddle of random assorted… stuff, snatching my glasses and shoving them on my face –upside down-. I slope back to the door looking around my room in distaste. Once I reach the landing I launch myself downstairs, only just staying
I groan, and try to retreat back into whatever nonsensical dream I was inhabiting. But it’s too late. And I can no longer cling to the last shreds of sleep as my rest is ripped from me harshly by my mum, shouting upstairs. Like a falcon screeching a threatening cry before it strikes its helpless prey, inevitably bringing death. Perhaps more like a song bird giving a warning call before danger arrives. Maybe just like a mother getting real tired of yelling at her “lazy” offspring. I sigh, realising I still haven’t answered and if I don’t soon I’d be suffering a fate worse than the falcon’s prey. I mumble something completely unintelligible and hear my mum stride away from the bottom of the stairs, relieved, either …show more content…
I untangle the covers from my legs, immediately regretting it and missing the warm, secure cocoon I’d bundled myself in, protection from the outside world of “responsibilities” and “achievement”. I shiver then look around for my iPod, finding the earphones wound around my neck like a python and only a little less dangerous. It’s no big deal though, it happens a lot, most nights in fact, that I wake up in the precarious position of nearly choking myself in my sleep. Crisis averted. Maybe not. I can hear my dad, talking overly loudly as always, moving downstairs. NO. He’s started thumping upstairs, bellowing as he goes.
“Bumble! Becks! Becca!”
Nonononono. Hide now. I look around before realising I’m still in bed and throw my covers over myself. I begin to revel in the familiar feeling of comfort. Then he bursts into my room to “love” me, try torture. I endure it unwillingly as he pets me, swallowing the urge to yell that I’m not the dog, knowing it’d bring trouble. Eventually he leaves, satisfied he’s annoyed me enough before I’ve even got up. I snuggle down again and glance at my clock. I curse silently; I’m going to be late if I don’t move. …show more content…
That or improvise. Both have helped me dawdle through 16 years of life so far. I chuck myself from my bed, momentarily forgetting I have a bunk bed and feeling that odd sensation of falling I’ve never gotten used to. That followed by the large, dull thud my body makes as my back breaks my fall, leaving me breathless, and I’m definitely awake. And up-ish, small victory, I guess. I stumble to my feet gasping as I try to replace the air knocked out of me by my fight with the floor. Once my lungs have resumed semi-normal function I shuffle over to the door wondering why everything is super blurry. Glasses. I stagger over to my massive, messy muddle of random assorted… stuff, snatching my glasses and shoving them on my face –upside down-. I slope back to the door looking around my room in distaste. Once I reach the landing I launch myself downstairs, only just staying