Monday, Monday


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All It’s Cracked Up to Be.” Tell us about a time when everything turned out exactly as you’d hoped.

I knew it. This is going to happen. Just as I predicted, the time will come and smack right in my face. I won’t be able to answer this prompt for today.

I woke up in someone else’s’ bed,  sheets and pillows.  Yes, I was in another room, another house and place. When I came yesterday, I figured out there’d be trouble  this morning when I wake up. I won’t have my writing table, chair and lamp. And so I can’t write. Not because I cant, but I’m at work. So I won’t even try.

In fact as  I am writing this, the day is almost over. Who knows I might even finish doing this the next day.

This reminds me of how we get up in the morning when I was younger. At a time when the sheets are soft and warm  and at an age when the need to getting more sleep comes in the morning. Then comes my mom’s warning voice from the kitchen, we will be late for school if we don’t get up. Our house was small, there’s no need for her to come knocking in my room, all she does is  yell. The  first warning always comes in a soft and mellowed voice. I knew what she meant, I will be late for  school.  The second one will come in a higher note,  I could sense fury.  The more she insist on punctuality the more I feel the warmth and softness of the sheets on my skin.  Staying late gets better.  As I listen and expect the next warning, I knew I am getting late. Until I finally get up and get all my things ready, And she is right.  I was abiding by her warning and make sure that whatever she says gets done. And so Im late.

It also took me another day to finish this prompt. And so I’m late.





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