I Move The Stars for No One

Within You

Author's note
This Story will be one part of a ongoing plot. The Character in this novel can be depicted as either gender based on the readers preference. However, I will stick to a certain pathway that defines the character to suit my plot.
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United States 8:00 am

I awoke from my sleep. My dark brown curls laced around my forefingers. My bed spread sprawled across my bed in a disastrous disarray. I had the bed spread for quite some time. My mother gave me the bed spread as a gift last Christmas. I adored the intricate flying TARDIS design and galaxtic background. (I personally am a big fan of Doctor Who, well selective Drs anyway, and have a obsession for intergalactic unknowns. So getting this bed spread on Christmas was a major win-win for me.)
I rolled out of bed and sluggishly made my way to the kitchen to get breakfast. My mother decided to sleep in. I felt famished so I grabbed some cereal.

In my kitchen, I rummaged around for a cereal bowl and spoon. The cleaned dishes overflowed the plastic black dish holder. I was going to grab a bowl from the cabinet , but my reflexes have not been the best in the morning and I didn't want to get in trouble for breaking a bowl again. So I grabbed a bowl from the disk rack and slogishly poured Honey Bunches of Oates into my cereal bowl. I then made my way from my kitchen and sat at the circular dining room table my mom had recently installed. I sat with a hunched composure and ate my ceral. The rich silky smooth texture of the cold milk hit the roof of my mouth. Oats and Almonds floated around in my ceral bowl as I dived in for a second time. I Cautiously crunched the Almonds.(carefull not to get any remains stuck in my teeth) A few minutes later I finish my ceral and complete my usually daily routine. Everymorning I brush my teeth, apply hair gel to my curly locks of hair, listen to some sort of music, and put on a pair of jeans with a t-shirt. Today, I decided wear light blue faded blue jeans and a Queen logo t-shirt.Of couse I needed to find the right shoes, to finish my look , so I put on crisped, worn out, light blue checkered vans.

"Y/n" my mother yelled. "Coming mom !!" I reponded.  swiftly I opened the door of my room and headed toward the voice of my mom.
She was in the livingroom. Her straightened black hair evenly flowed behind her back. Her signature bright red lipstick and thin cat eye style illuminated her chestnut brown eyes. My mom is 39. Her facial features do not fail to keep a youthful apperance. She has several tattoos. However, The consequences of her tattoos have not been a pretty sight. Her flesh slowly has sagged at the hems of her frivolous tattoo jobs. Unfortunatly, For me she happened to be the type of mother who has a tattos of her childs name. I regret the day I told her her tattoos were"Cool". I told her that to be nice.
Me and my family are currently not on so good terms when it comes to "getting along". But I'll get to that in a moment.
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A man tightly wrapped his hand across my mom's waist. His hands were soaked in grease and rust. From the tip of his palm to his fingers. He just came "home" from a plumbing job. My mother turned toward him briefly and gave him a loving smile. Then both of them stared directly at me. She had a small plastic sealed package in her hand. "Your book came in today y/a." I tightly grasped the package from her hands and utterd a quick "thank you". I left them both alone in the livingroom and rushed into my room.
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My room is quite plain. I have a black wood bookshelf that I use as a cd rack for all of my cds and personal movie collection. On my lightyellow popcorn styled walls are numerouse picture prints of DC characters such as The Joker or Batman. I have a white xbox one. My most prize possession is the antique shortcut window I have. The window is in a location of my house that allows for a perfect view to the nearby naturalistic beauty of nature's parks. I gaze out of the window from time to time pondering my dreams
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My hands overturn the dry crumpt package bag.  The scarlet red book sleeve pokes out.  No wrapping directly shielded the contact between the frail pages and friction from movement along its journey to my home.