Waking Time

Macy speaks three different languages. Her mother tongue. Her body. Her soul. All three are very peculiar, in the sense that none understands the other.
Macy wakes up at exactly 7:10 every morning. But she stays in bed until an hour and a half later. She always tries to go back to sleep.
She sees through the curtains, through the walls, and through the ceiling.
Tossing and turning.
Blinking, shutting her eyes close.
She always tries to go back to sleep.

At 9:00 AM, she starts to exercise. But after almost ten minutes, she stops. She walks in front of a full-body mirror.
She stares at her image, smiles, and goes on to prepare breakfast.

In the kitchen, she grabs a small pan, put some oil, and gets two eggs to fry.She goes to the cupboard, and get a small, white, chipped tea cup.
The only one she has.
She makes herself some hot chocolate, from the cocoa powder left from last night.
She picks up the eggs. Cracks both with a fork.
Stares at the sizzling, white and yellow froth, which turn into her favorite breakfast.

She goes on with her routine.

She steps on a chair.
Checks the fan.
Goes down.
Gets a thick rope.
Climbs up.
Fixes her hair.
She kicks the chair away.

She always tries to go back to sleep.

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