It had been a Thursday that I had come back from school and let my bag fall to the side of my bed. My cat, Flame, was waiting with his head rested on my black, fluffy pillow. I tried my best to remove my clothing quickly and to put on my tank top and shorts. When I was done, I lay next to my cat, kissed him gently, and went to sleep to the sound of Flame’s purring.
It was approximately 6 or 7 in the afternoon when I had waked up from my nap. Flame was hovering over my face meowing at me. I assumed he was thirsty but I couldn’t quite get the energy to move my legs off the bed. I looked to the window and listened to a soft, muffled sound. It had dawned on me that my Foster Mother had notified me earlier in the week that there would be a storm coming. I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to my biological family and one special one to the one I loved most. Flame then reminded me of his needs and with a groan I got up and filled his bowl with fresh water and retired to my room.
My room at the time was dark and cold. The only light that I allowed to come in was of the window and the light that peered in from the living room that insisted on pushing is way through the crack below my door. As I’m looking around I realized I still had some boxes packed from moving to Bridgeport and I became overwhelmed with fatigue that I laid back and stared at the ceiling until sleep had invoked me once more.
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