He woke up at 6:50 on the dot every morning. He’d shower, make his bed, drink some coffee, and walk out the door. He lived completely alone. His existence seemed like it was missing something, maybe a person or maybe a feeling of contentment. Roger Everett had so many things that he did every day, so many routines. But they didn’t make him happy; something was missing. The sad part was that he didn’t realize this. His life was so utterly engulfed by his routines that he never stopped to realize that he didn’t really have a life at all.
At age eleven, Cynthia hadn’t experienced much anguish. She woke up on this sunny Thursday, in her twin-sized bed drenched in shades of violet, happy- happy Thursday. She showered quickly, got dressed, and met her parents for breakfast outside by the pool. She was an only child and was given basically everything she ever asked for. She loved sunny days like this when her family would sit outside and enjoy her favorite meal. Today had an amazing spread: scrambled eggs, butter, toast, orange juice, jam, mango, kiwi, and pineapple. This breakfast had great day written all over it. After breakfast her dad gave her a ride to school on his way to work. This is how it always happened: every school day, after breakfast, Cynthia’s dad would give her a ride to school. During the fifteen minute ride he would ask her “so, how is school?” When she responded with a simple “fine”, he delved more deeply for details: “What was your last grade given? I really hope you are giving your best in your classes…and I know that you are capable of A- pluses.” Usually after this comment Cynthia sighed and turned to the window. She thought she could get as many perfect scores as she wanted; the problem was that she didn’t really want them. Oh well.
No comments:
Post a Comment