Slivers of light pierced the veil of gloom she’d shrouded herself within. Pinpoints of resplendent sunbeam shone through the netted curtain, dancing upon her face, stinging her eyes with their intrusion.
Rising from her resting place stirred still sleeping particles of dust and fibers to waltz round in twinkling circles with the sun. Ever so slowly she rose, blanket in hand stumbling toward the light.
Standing before the window with 
outstretched arms, she flung the blanket over the curtain rod and climbed back into her bed, once again beneath the comforting cover of dark. She wasn’t quite willing to relinquish the night just yet.
I’ve been meaning to join in the Six Sentence Stories fun for some time now. Lazy, busy, preoccupied, better at writing real life stuff than making it up, but this one is kind of real life, except my curtains aren’t netted.
Now I need coffee, the morning has come . . .
When the sun rises, the birds outside my window start to sing a sweet morning song to welcome each new day (every frickin day) as it begins, sometimes I want to shoot them. Shoo, them. I meant shoo them, like away. What kind of monster do you think I am? (a grouchy, tired one) Well yes, generally speaking, I kind of am. Just in the mornings, mind you. OK, sometimes during the afternoon as well. And maybe the evening, a little and only sometimes. Depends on how loud and long those birds serenaded the morning.
makes me coffee every morning and sets it on my nightstand for me. I used to think it was because he loved me, now I know it’s more of a self-defense kind of thing, an offering to appease and soften me up before I stumble out of bed.
The Qwiet Muse 