Waking Up

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

The music grew louder as the pattern repeated. Drawing Adrian across the boundary that separated sleep and wakefulness, it began the collapse of the dream behind them. It wasn't an unpleasant sound, in fact he had chosen the ring because it made him think of a sun rising over gently waving grain, but after six months of waking up to it, it was now firmly ensconced in the category of annoying morning noise that he'd rather leave him alone.

Every repetition of the melody grated on his nerves. He wanted to ignore it and go back to sleep. He knew that wrapping his pillow around his head wouldn't keep the sound out but he tried anyway. The only way to get the sound to stop was to get up and stumble across the room to the shelf that held his phone. That was the point. He couldn't out stubborn the machine. At best he could lay there adrift in the midst of annoying sound choosing not to get up. But the alarm would win in the end.

Forcing himself into a sitting position, Adrian contemplated an eternity of tomorrows.


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