Stardust

Protostar

Stardust: Protostar

 Jake Gallagher

        If the first day of school isn't the most dreadful day of the entire year, other than Thanksgiving where you're forced to have an hour-long dinner with family that you don't even like, then I don't know what is...

"Jacoby, darling!"

A groan scratched at my throat and my palms groggily reached to cover my ears. It was too early to even be alive.

"Honey!"

"Hmm," I grumbled, but my voice was lost in the whooshing of the box fan and the incessant jabbering of the neighbors' whose idle chit-chat trailed in through the open window. Giving my best, feeble attempt at hushing it all, I buried my face into a mound of plush feathers whose stems jabbed at my skin through the pillow case.

"Get your sister, sweetie!"

Just beneath the howling of pet names that made me wish this pillow was soundproof, the faint squall of a child was carried through the fan. It wailed as though the Devil himself was throttling it. Sometimes, I think the voice of that child is possessed by demonic forces. I had never heard a baby cry as deeply and horrendously as my sister.

I sighed, not wanting to leave the comfort of my fourposter, but I knew that I couldn't leave her to cry in her crib. The neighbors would call CPS. Not that that has happened, but I wouldn't put it passed them. They never liked us, so they looked for any reason to get us kicked out.

"Alright, OK," I groaned, though, I'd much rather drown myself in a tide of blankets, sheets, and that pleasant dream that's all forgotten now, rather than coddle the wailing kid.

Did you know that, within five minutes of being awake, fifty percent of your dream is forgotten? Yeah, and after ten minutes, ninety percent of it is totally gone? I found that out yesterday. Pretty interesting, really. I always had an immense fascination with dreams and I think I was dreaming about this exact day, actually; the first day of my sophomore year. All I can remember is seeing the front doors of Pyxis High School and a few unfamiliar faces. I also read something about your memory retaining faces. Like, you could see a face in your dream and never recognize it, but your mind has seen that face at some point in your life, like the face of a stranger walking by you in the hall or someone sitting across from you on the bus. Now that's creepy. But, I digress...

"I'm coming," I grunted.

Functioning on barely three hours of sleep, my limbs refused to comply as my sneakers met the vast sea of dark carpet. My legs wobbled like there were no bones to support my stature. I would have fallen back into the mound of bedding or face-first into the carpet if I hadn't braced myself on the computer desk. The old desk teetered just as badly as my balance.

I tripped over my own two feet across the room, with every detail blurring by from my subsequent tunnel vision of sleeplessness.