Rogue~ B. Bradshaw

1-ROGUE

Part One- Rogue

Ana wasn't sure of a lot of things in her life. Nothing ever seemed to work out how she had visioned her life to be. People would come into her life, walk out of her life or that person would become something more to her. Everything was so jumbled and always changing. But one thing she was sure of was that she loved to fly. She owned the blue skies above.

Ana yawned and woke up to the breeze leaking through the cracked open window in her bedroom. The sun was on the verge of rising and the coolness of the night before still lingered in the rising temperature.

Ana's green eyes made their way to the alarm clock on her bedside table, "Oh sh¡t!" she exclaimed as she saw the time on the clock reading 6:07 am.

She had to be to base at 6:30 am. She lived approximately 10 minutes away, but it usually took her 5 minutes on her motorcycle. She wasn't one to follow traffic laws.

She flew out of bed ran to her closet and tore it apart trying to find the right outfit for the day; which she would probably regret. She struggled to pick between jeans and a t-shirt or shorts and a crewneck. Her flight suit was sitting in her locker back at base, so she was fine to wear untraditional clothing there. She decided on jeans and a t-shirt so she could wear her pilot jacket that contained all her patches to be somewhat formal.

"Sh¡t, Sh¡t, Sh¡t! I better not be late again" She rushed out of her closet getting a glimpse at her clock reading; 6:10 am. Ana had always had trouble being on time for things. Although, some things have as been able to make an exception.

After Ana's glance at the clock, she booked it to her bathroom to brush her teeth and to slick her brown locks up into a tight ballerina-like bun with no fly always. She had always hated putting her hair up like this, it had always seemed to give her a headache. But it was just another one of her sacrifices to join the Navy. Another one of her sacrifices was also waking up early. Ana seemed to be a completely different person after she woke up. It took up to an hour for her sunny side to show, everyone that knew her knows not to piss her off early in the morning. But on some mornings a motorcycle ride seemed to help, so she tried to take her motorcycle over her old Jeep every morning.

"Ouch, gosh dammit!" she cursed as she brushed through her bed head and then Ana repeatedly slammed her brush against the counter four times. Her hair was so thick. Even when she was born Ana had a full head of air. This was a blessing yet a curse. From her thick hair, she had seemed to also receive the gift of full perfectly shaped eyebrows. She just needed to brush them into place. And she also had gotten healthy long dark eyelashes. She rarely wore mascara. Ana always would curl her lashes to keep them nice and healthy.

Once she had done her hair, brushed her teeth for around 30 seconds, put on deodorant,  curled her lashes, and put on a tad bit of makeup to look like she had not just rolled out of bed. She rushed back into her room to grab her Apple Watch and her phone. Which was at 23%, she had fallen asleep while watching "The Summer I Turned Pretty". She was a die-hard Conrad fan all the way, but she did love Jeremiah. She loved this show because she sorta felt connected to it. Like it was showing a bit of her life from when she was younger.

"You better not die on me again," she instructed her phone as she picked it up from her bed. Before she left her room she went on her phone to an app that connected a cube on her bedside table to her phone. This cube turned colors depending on the mood Ana chose and it reflected those colors onto another cube that her best friend had. Today yet again she chose: late, again(color purple). After that daily task, Ana then grabbed her small bag to bring to the base and finally made her way out of her room.

Making her way to her kitchen she ran through her small living room that had a small blue velvet couch to fit a maximum of three people, one green velvet armchair, and side coffee tables(which she always stubbed her toes on), on the coffee table was her plant children that always somehow seemed to die.