Waking comes slow, mind and body reluctant to tread in the bright path of the world's reality. Her eyes open, focusing on the red blur of light abover her head. One breath, then another as her eyes slowly focus, her mind coming awake enough to make sense of that which she sees. The numbers form, though it takes another heartbeat for their meaning to penetrate the fog. She was late....again....
She draws her legs beneath her, stretching, listening to muscle and joint give way with a series of sharp pops and cracklings. She had once found a certain amount of humor in the ramblings of those that said they had weather sensitive body parts. These days, as the cold settles in hard enough to make her ache, she doesn't laugh.
She steps into a shower, the water hot enough to raise steam from the white tiles and turn her skin the red of a mild sunburn. It's the heat that slowly forces life and wakefulness, encouraging the blood to flow and dimming the ache to a dull throb. She stands there for longer than the clock says she should, just letting the heat flow over her, steeling herself for the day.
She could hear a voice in the back of her mind, as she stood there. His voice had an almost tangible quality to it. It always had, and was one of the things she loved about him. One of the things she missed. One of many.
She kicks the water off, wrapping herself in a towel and proceeding through the rest of her morning ritual. Clothing, hair, socks, shoes...toast in the toaster... She searches for her keys and her pack while waiting for the bread to pop, then stares out the window at the dismal day. She thinks longingly for a moment of retreat, of curling up in the heat of warm blankets and memories... Wishes for a moment....
The toast pops and the thought is banished as she slips into a jacket and bundles the warm bread in a paper towel, then runs into the rain....she was late....
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