My Alarming Dream

" My Alarming Dream " My little old copper alarm clock

rests on my desk tick - tocking away each inevitable

second of the day, only to shake, rattle, and ring me to

wake every morning. As I lay there in bed, half dead,

sometimes wishing maybe that I was, achy and tired

stretching and scratching like a jungle cat, I feel the morning

crawl into my house. The smell of fresh coffee creeps under

my door my sister's radio blares the newest teen sensation

and drowns out the morning news light seeps in through

cracks in my curtains and the cold of a winter night forces

me to burrow back under a warm heap of scratchy old

quilts as I tell myself, "five more minutes and I'll get up." I

contort myself into a comfortable knotty little ball under the

heavy coverings and bury my head into the broken-in old

feather pillow searching for warmth and what remains of

my last dream. BRRRIIIIAAAAAANNNNGGGGG,

ka-tank, tank, ka-tunk. My brain is electrocuted to life by

the cantankerous little alarm clock. It's fine springs and

wires click into their places the polished metal bells get beat

by the whipping hammer as it snaps back and forth. The

bells scream out in alarm. It hops and jumps does the wake

up dance on its stubby little legs, just to tell me it's time to

go. As the clock stops dancing I reach out from my cave

with a daring hand and grab it. It's shockingly cold and

damp nearly frozen by the night air that had blown in

through my still open window. Only after I've set the clock

down, do I notice the face has been frosted over by the

night's

...