The Fourth Bit of Boring: Wren

 NOTE: This post features Wren from generation seven. Please skim that generation and maybe BoB two and three before reading this.

   I was on my side, eyelids heavy, staring at the clock. I had been in and out of my comatose state I fondly referred to as sleep ever since I laid down close to midnight. I so often used the coma metaphor, sue to the particular fact that I either woke up because my fellow trailer trash neighbors dropped a Spam can's plastic label onto the ground or I'd sleep through Manowar, a band that claimed they were the loudest ones ever, concert; when it came to sleep I was either an incredibly light sleeper, or incredibly heavy one.

   Must fall asleep... must fall asleep... I was left with two hours were it wasn't socially acceptable to do anything other than be a workaholic sealing some million dollar deal or fast asleep. Six am. Just fall asleep for two more hours, than you can start your day at six. I found it amusing that I planned when I was going to arise so closely, when I had no job or any obligations at all. Ever since the theys, thems, theirs, I couldn't let a minute go unaccounted for. One slip up, one minute that I decided to be chatty and something about the past crept through my lips, it would all be over for me. They would find me. Or maybe the thems or theirs would first, either way I couldn't risk it. I had to be precise.

   I let my eyelids shutter close, as I let out a final yawn. I felt my body growing heavier as my thoughts slowed. Two more hours, two more hours of this sleep and I would be good to go. I didn't think anymore, as I was transported into the world of dreams.

---

   Guard telling me she was going to wait outside. Call if I needed anything. Okay. Mirror. Small bathroom. The forced, fake smile she flashed me as she exited. Alone in small bathroom. Irrational hatred for it, the place, the situation.


   She cut my hair. Left me without my mint green highlights. Barely chin length, defiantly not the old mid-waist length. Considering the revenue stream, you'd think they could afford to hire a desperate, wannabe stylist. Lady who cut was trained in hiding, self defense, and secret keeping. Not a real stylist. Real stylist security breach, though. Didn't care. Teenage girl thoughts.

   Had to get out. Fake smiles, losing who I am, lying. Can't do it. Two hours of it and I was done. Needed out of this place. How? Glanced around at the bathroom that doubled a a holding cell. Minimal decor. Nothing visually appealing, just functional. Lamp, trashcan, stool. Said she'd wait outside while I change into ratty shirt and jeans. They take my designer tunic and leggings. She wasn't there if I needed her. There to keep me from escaping. Pushed furniture against door, stepped onto toilet to loook out window covered in grate.

   Felt around the edge of the window, trying to find a latch. Was none. Not a big boned person, could not fit through the tiny holes that let me see a sliver of the outdoors. Picnic table, two fences. Could jump or climb over first, second electric.

 
   Not a bright idea, but only idea. Shifted my weight to other side of porcelain throne, taking a bobby pin out of my hair. Felt bad for all the other teenage girls who would have to go through this; if I thought this haircut and fashion was horrid imagine no bobby pins or supervision free time. Tried turning the screw in the upper left corner with the pin. Heard shuffling outside the room, lady began talking.

   Asked if I okay. Said yes. Asked when I'd be done. Said soon. Needed to stall. Needed excuse. Tried thinking of one as left screw fell to floor, making a clanging noise, began working on upper right one. Asked why I was taking said long. Umm.... Needed excuse. Looked around, quickly said there was no toilet paper. She said she'd find some. She left. Had a few minutes more.

   RIght screw fell to floor. Clutched onto the sides of the air duct, channeling my upper body strength. Did three whole chin ups in gym, could do this. I had to, I couldn't do what they asked. If I did, I practically gave him a life sentence and as soon as I was released from custody the others would go after me. I had no proof that their intentions, but I knew that I had to go out on my own to stay safe. One final lift, managed to heave myself into the duct, wiggling around like a maniac.

   Look ridiculous. Don't care. It was probably unwise to leave the duct open, showing them my exact escape entrance, but considering the size of the building I doubted they'd be able to find my exact exit. 

   My thoughts blurred together as I focused on my one objective: out. Through the vent... the light, to the light... I crawled like a toddler through the dusty cobwebs... opening, I pushed, falling head first, stinking...

  I was free.

---

   I slowly opened my eyes, relieved to awaken from one of the dreams that had replayed night after night in my head- luckily it wasn't a bloody gory one. I popped my knuckles and stretched, rolling over onto my back. I had managed to fall asleep for not one, not two, but three whole hours. It was seven am and I needed stop pondering what I was going to do with my life and actually do it. I had been fired a week ago and ever since my life had been spent curled up in bed napping, ignoring the dirty dishes and old clothes that were piling up, and skimming the newspaper for local gossip. I needed to clean up myself and the trailer, stop pitying myself, and find a job, or otherwise I'd not be able pay the bills and homelessness didn't sound appealing.

   I quickly rolled out of bed, adjusted the comforter, and stood up, walking out of the bedroom, across the living room, dining area, kitchen, and laundry area that were all cramped together into the main portion of my trailer into the bathroom. I sorted through the medical cabinet, picked up a tube of minty fresh toothpaste and my brush and conservatively put a white dot onto the bristles.

   A, B, C, D, E, F... are you suppose to sing the alphabet to yourself while brushing your teeth, or when you wash your hands? Is it happy birthday? I knew mum had told my which one, but I was five and naturally hadn't listened. I glanced around the room as if I expected a sign to be posted. The dirty laundry piled in front of the shower, sitting there, begging for me to wash it caught my eye. I couldn't blame it, my wardrobe was rather minimal with about ten or so basic t-shirts and blouses, along with a pair of heals, flip-flops, sneakers, a jean skirt, sweats, workout shorts, one pair of jeans, denim shorts, and a jacket for summer and winter.

   I spit, rinsed, and placed the brush next to the soap. Stop procrastinating. I'll do the laundry soon. Stop right now. Okay, stop procrastinating by telling yourself to stop procrastinating and stop having conversations in your head. Please. People are going to think that is is peculiar. Isn't it human nature to procrastinate, though? And don't we all have little conversation with our conscious? And isn't it odd that when we do something odd we see if someone else also does that odd thing, because if they do then it is okay?

    I bent down, gathered the laundry up, and shoved it in a stretchy purple nylon bag. Step one complete, next objective is to put the laundry into the washer. Objective? Was I playing Marion. I chuckled, I hadn't played a video game since before this mess began. Now I was much too poor to afford a gaming system

   I walked out of the bathroom and opened the lid of the washer, setting the dial. I dumped the clothes into machine, shut it, and pressed start. It always sounded like a bomb or elderly computer when it began- one day I swore it was going to explode. What can I say, though? It was cheaper to have a washing machine on hand then spend money on a laundromat.

    The washing machine was rumbling away, so I decided to check outside to see if the paperboy had come by yet. I opened my red front door, looking around. I didn't see the white paper sitting on my front porch like it was suppose to, but honestly I didn't suspect that children were fond of what they were suppose to do. I took a few seconds to look around, until I finally spotted it hiding beneath some weeds. I walked over to pick it up, hoping maybe some decent coupons or wanted ads would be there.

   I sat at the table, the paper spread out wide in front of me. A high school athletic team won a game, breaking a losing streak that had gone so strongly for thirteen years. The PTA was hosting a bake sale and all profits were going to be donated to the parks and recreation department, to support the maintenance of the local parks. Ironic, diabetes supported fitness. Wanted ads, wanted ads. Hm... Oh here they are. 

   Firefighter, must be athletic and brave. Was I athletic? Well, I walked to lots of places, but I hated exercise so probably not. Also, I had the tendency to run away from stuff I didn't want to do or controversy, so bravery was probably not my number one quality. Female live in comforter, preferably attractive. Female live in comforter?  How lonely do you have to be to put an ad in the paper for that? Next one, receptionist at a spa, good people skills, healthy. I was healthy. I was okay with people. The instructions said to call and schedule an in person interview and they wanted someone ASAP. These were all things I could do; maybe, just maybe I had found myself a job.