KIDS HATE MONDAYS TOO

          The cock is making that perplexing noise again.
     
    The girl in the bed stirs restlessly, wishing hard that the sound would go away. A cold morning breeze is gently wafting unto her slim form, and she pulls her wrapper tighter around herself and burrows closer to the strip of wall beneath the window. The morning is quiet…that peaceful quality the day has, just before everything begins to wake up. Except for that blasted cock.
    
     Her forehead wrinkles in a frown, as the sound, caught between a strangled choking and a defiant crow, comes in through the window again. For three days now, she’s had to wake up to it. The first day she’d puzzled briefly over it, wondering if some monster had nested beneath her window and was trying to lure her outside to become an early morning snack. By the second morning, she’d figured it out…monsters have better things to do than wake up little girls by 5a.m.
     
    Sighing, she thinks briefly of her morning chore. Sees herself sweeping up the worm casts which dot the compound every morning. Taking a quick bath, dressing up hurriedly, and bolting down her breakfast. She has never been late to school and intends to keep that record unblemished. But first…she will have to leave her warm, gently-squeaking spring bed, open her eyes and let the day fully begin.
  
        She opens her eyes, muttering softly to herself. A memory has come with her sight. She has forgotten to wash her socks, a consequence of a pre-weekend euphoric haze. So, she will have to wear a fairly dirty pair, or wash it and wring it as dry as possible in her towel. Trekking to school in damp socks is NOT the highlight of her day. She cuts her eyes to the window as the cock seems to send a strangled laugh her way. The sky is barely stained with light, and she can hear a few early birds chirping listlessly. Sighing, she pushes her wrapper off, and raises herself onto her knees, setting her bed to squeaking and groaning in all its springy glory. Peering through the window for a moment, she tries to see beneath it, and only achieves a dizzying perspective of her nose. She leans back and rubs at her eyes, yawning widely… and once again, the cock begins its warbling, intrusive, nerve-grating greeting. With one violent motion, she bangs loudly on the window’s metal bars with both fists, and is rewarded with a satisfactory feathery commotion as the offending cock is cut off mid-crow. A grim smile crosses her face. Good morning Mr Cock, she thinks as she finally clambers out of bed, i hope you choke and die.

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About feminemdapest

I love words and how beautifully they can be woven. I have a wicked sense of humor and a mind like a sponge, so little gets past me. As a result, I have a garbage heap of a head. Did I mention I love words?
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