The Wild

-1- The Rug of Doom

            My roaring yawn could be heard from across the cabin. I had never been a quiet yawner, since yawning required a low groan to pass over my tongue and probably kill the morning flowers by the windowsill with my bad breath. I attempted to stretch like a princess, one arm stretched high with the heel of my palm pressed to the sky, and the other bent ever so slightly so my fingers caught on my elbow. When arching my back, it gave a satisfying crack, which further destroyed my attempt at gracefulness along with the fact that the chances of having a double chin in this pose were higher than the clouds.

            There was a point at which I could not recall when I tossed the blankets back and lunged out of bed, not even half ready for the day. I shuffled across the open space of the cabin, my oversized pajama bottoms dragging over my toes and making it difficult not to trip over the rug in front of the refrigerator.

            I knew it was coming, but I tripped over it anyway.

            I caught myself on the counter and flung my foot back to kick the rug back into place. Each morning was the same as the last, but the order in which I went about my business varied. Sometimes I didn't trip over the rug, which meant that a good day was ahead of me. Considering I had the misfortune of taking a bit of a tumble, it was only fair to assume that today would screw me over.

            Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I pumped my chest up, and exhaled out, stretching my arms in front of me and cracking my knuckles back in the process. Time to start this crap-tastic day.

            Coffee: check.

            Breakfast (semi-stale cereal and apple): check.

            Clean dishes: check.

            Brush teeth: check.

            Shower: pff, no thanks.

            By the time I'd finished my short list of things that actually mattered in the morning, I commenced changing into something more suitable for the day. I zoomed across the cabin and swept the curtain aside that stood as a barrier between my massive, completely open bed and the rest of the house. For a bedroom, it sure as hell wasn't private, considering the largest of the windows in the cabin were on this wall, including a patio that walked out to the deck overlooking the forest ahead. There wasn't much to look at considering all it was was trees, and trees, and more trees.

            I dragged my sweatshirt off, struggling with my overly frizzy, knotted bun that bounced in loose, under-washed curls. After jumping--well, basically jumping--out of my plaid pajama pants, I scurried over to the pole bolted to the wall that I kept a small selection of clothes on. After spending more time than usual on a pair of pants that hugged my calves and a baggy tank top, I tossed a jacket over my shoulders and paired it with a scarf.

            Because spring or not, it was cold as balls outside.

            A creak sounded on the opposite side of the cabin, calling my attention to the kitchen where the door was. From behind the wooden door, one of my best friends--which wasn't a very grand title considering the small amount of people I actually knew personally--stepped into the house with a familiar brunette trailing in behind him.

            "Good to see you're up," she commented, her voice a mumble as she wandered in from behind Bennet, who was already in the kitchen looking for something to eat.

            "What else would I be doing? Sleeping?" I snorted. Bennet smirked from in the kitchen.

            "True, true," he mused in the process of pulling out pitcher of juice and pouring himself a glass. "Amaya?" He held up the pitcher towards the brunette, who shook her head.