THE MAFIA'S LAWYER |✔️

☆1☆ A bad headache...

Karmale's POV.

An annoying siren noise blares from a Humpty Dumpty shaped alarm clock, just an arm's length away from my cosy divan on my nightstand.

On the small magnificent table is my phone, a jug of water, night lamp, a few romance novels and of course, the irritating alarm clock.

"What the- is this an asylum or-?" I let out an irritated groan.

Stretching my braceleted arm to get the alarm clock, I throw it hard against the handsomely painted wall of my spick and span bedroom. It breaks into pieces as it falls down to the ground.

My domicile is always as silent as a graveyard and  I love it that way. The noise is turning me bazaar.

I reluctantly raise from my slumber position, only to feel my wits nag at my head. My head aches so bad as if a builder is hitting nails into it.  I lazily open my eyes for fear that my action may make the headache worse.

My snow sheeted bed covered with a vermillion red blanket and floral cased pillows is where my numb and frazzled body is situated. My dressing mirror a little on the right though North East with a vanilla perfume collection and vanilla scented lotions. The thought of the scent they produce makes me want to throw up.
It is usually a friendly one but just not right now. It is making my stomach churn in detest.

With foreign and unexpected energy, I jump out of bed, ignoring my teddy bear sleeping sandals on my woolen bed mat just below my well- manicured feet and sprint to the frog's Kingdom. I quickly lower my neck into the sink bowl and let out the unwanted fluids through my mouth.

The smell is unpleasant and my head throbs even harder than before.

I feel a deep burn in my lower abdomen. I hastily take off my bear printed pyjama pants and sit on the toilet. I urinate for what seems like forever. It feels as if I spent the whole night on some tasty drink that I could barely stop drinking. I get up and stand in front of the mirror, wash my face, brush my teeth and say to myself.

"Karmale Hale Kane is up."

I then stroll to the kitchen. The island fairly cluttered with crockery and cutlery. Comfortingly cute, small and well equipped with kitchen tools and groceries. On top of one of it's wooden cupboard is a small first aid kit. I stretch my arm and grab it from up. I take out some pain killers to help do away with the splitting headache. Unfortunately, I have never been a tablet lover so I dispose them off in the trash can. I instead empty a bottle of lime water down my dry itchy throat.

I wobble to the sitting room. It is of African setting. It's a dull theme.

Coffee brown sofas, pale brown cushions, a transparent vase half of it with marbles and the other half, cowrie shells.
An enormous sticker with African women carrying pots on their heads is spread against the wall in the background.

I move to the Italian sized windows and draw the curtains. Morning beauty welcomes me. The twittering of the birds, the fallen brown autumn leaves. The luminous sunrise hits my apple face but it doesn't go well with the headache.

"Today just won't be the best of days." I close the curtains with a tired sigh.

"What's with the headache? "

Oh God!

I massage my temples trying to recollect a few of my past events as I move back to my bedroom.

"Today morning."

"No success there. Only some troubling headache. Wow! Lucky me." I sacarstically talk to myself.