Untitled Writing
I woke up with a strange feeling. It's a feeling that can be described by a looming presence, an almost ghostly cipher in step behind you, prodding you in the direction of your fate. I laid in bed for a moment, doing my best to interpret the sensation, deducing whether or not it's related to an exam I had forgotten about or something equally foreboding. It was early on a Friday morning, the weather already making it's impact on the five of my toes that had been unfortunate enough to slip from their heated enclosure into the frigid morning air that my room had so magnificently failed to keep out. A boy of eighteen, my body was in the midst of radical changes, and my limbs grew faster than the rate of my mother's awareness, rendering myself with a comforter that forced me to make decisions. On this particular morning, my mind was made up, as I buried my face deeper into the pillow and under the warm respite of the blanket while the  perpetual suffering of my toes continued. It was time for the mad dash from room to shower and every step was crucial. In the throws of a winter storm, I'm forced to step up my efforts, which involves the inclusion of my comforter in my scramble to the bathroom which I remain swaddled in until the very moment where I heave it aside and dive beneath the pummeling single stream of water that I can only compare to a water-gun enthusiasts wet dream. The shower was brief, the soap and shampoo remaining untouched in their places. Stepping out, I grabbed two towels, one damp, the other wet. Throwing the latter on my head and the other around my waist, I made for the closet, the process of selecting my clothes being the only aspect of my morning process I took seriously.
     I was already late, forgoing breakfast and making the mad dash out my door and down the steps, taking two at a time. My car, an old Toyota Corolla was the ride of an elderly woman, but it was well-maintained and I would have driven anything that could fit a female passenger. I climbed in and tossed my shit unceremoniously into the seat behind me. Ignoring my seat belt, I stuck the key into ignition and my foot on the gas. My drive is ten minutes in one direction on the only highway my small town has to offer. I was already speeding, and I accelerated further, cranking the music to a level I imagined the previous owner never knew existed. 

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Short Story
writing ConorDrago
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