Lifes Robot

Here's a short story that I started recently... I haven't decided if I will continue with it.

Sounds of the heater fill the room. The house creaks and cracks adjusting to the warm air. The sounds of cars driving by are muted by thick glass. Curtain pulled back and tied with a bow. It’s better this way. The room is peaceful filled with the smell of sweet fruit. Everything has its’ spot, everything is in its place. This is where she belongs. For now.

A rustling begins. Her eyelids jolt, showing motion? Her feet kick back in response. Now moving from side to side as that peaceful feeling is torn away. Jerking her body in all directions, she sleeps?

Rolling back and forth in a battle, a tug-o-war with her normally fluffy blanket. She yanks on it. Hard. Trying to get comfortable. She’s loosing. Her head barely rests on a lump of something at the head of her bed. A pillow? She pulls again, this time while rolling for added strength and ends up planting her head against the wall. Owe. Peaking through the bottom of her eyelashes. Disoriented. She is blinded by the intrusive beams of light invading her room. It’s time. Tugging on the knotted mess in an attempt to shut out the light she finally surrenders to it and its undeniable power. It has won again. Her mind turns on as thoughts bombard her cocoon.

Opening her eyes there’s nothing but fog. Shut them tight. Lifting one arm after another she grows from a crumpled ball and spreads her branches. Her legs join in as she becomes as long as a tree.

Eyes wide, she examines her room. Lost in her thoughts. What day is it? Chucking one leg over the side of the spring mattress she finally gathers her head. What a mess. Her feet touch the clammy, fuzzy floor sending a shock through her body.

Like a robot, she blends into morning routine. Stripping down. Now soaking wet. Minty foam bubbles. Warm air dries her quickly.

Dressing the part she does up her neatly pressed blouse. Putting on her face, she assumes her role. Munching on tasteless cheerios she’s out the door, tea in hand, a balancing act while locking it all behind her.

Sliding into her place she turns the key and takes off. Red light stop. Green light go. Traffic stop. Radio on, protected in her bubble. Life goes on in her head. A tragedy non stop, learning to live with it again she settles into her seat. Making her way to work. Her morning comes to a halt as her bumper greets the one in front of her…

Good morning.