Ignis

Rebecca

The shrill sound of an alarm filled the room, sunlight peeking through the slight gap in the curtains. Light filtered through and danced off of the dream catcher hanging from the rail, my heavy eyes slowly opened. Everything came into focus and I shut off the alarm.
Ah, Monday.

It signified that the weekend was officially over, giving you that big kick in the face that means you have to go back to that same, dismal place you spend everyday loathing. Even though it was my final year, it still felt as if I was going to be stuck there for an eternity.

According to my best friend it also meant an hour of trying everything on in your wardrobe and then hurling it on the floor repeatedly until you finally decide on whatever it is you're going to wear.

My morning routine generally consisted of throwing on a clean top and hoodie, scraping my coal black wavy hair into a high ponytail, minus a few escaping tendrils, squeezing into some skinny jeans and applying the faintest amount of mascara on the lashes around my green eyes.

I had just mustered up the energy to haul myself out of my bed, and slowly trudged my way towards my closet. The old wooden flooring cold on my feet. As hastily as I could manage, I slipped on an odd pair of socks to my feet, then looked absently into my floor length mirror.
I pushed my arms and head through a T-shirt and pullover hoodie after putting on yet another mismatching item, underwear. Followed by some denim jeans.
I Shoved my feet into my black converse unseeingly, before heading to the kitchen to grab my keys.

"You leaving already sweetie?" My mum peeped her head up from the newspaper she was engrossed in, her deep blue eyes had circles under them and her mousy brown hair was pulled up into a very messy bun, even by my standards. My mother was a very slight lady, petite and always had a smile on her face. We didn't have an awful lot of money growing up, but she always made sure that I was cared for, I was her only child and often left with my own company with her and my father working constantly, or deposited with family friends who were 'aunts' and 'uncles' even though we had no relation. There was no doubt she was quite a character, awful dating history and erratic, some might even say ... well a little bit mad if I am being honest. I grew up quickly having her as my parent.

"Yeah in about a minute. Just gotta get my keys." I explained whilst heading to the counter in our small kitchen. Living in an old house had character, long beams adorn the ceiling, the whole room gave off a cosy vibe, wood cupboards, bronze handles mixed with a little modern, my favourite part of our kitchen was always the marble breakfast bar in the center.

It was unlike my mother to look scruffy, I was sure she couldn't even sleep without straightening her hair and layering on foundation. I pondered silently to myself, worrying about her like I usually do, feeling slightly bitter it was supposed to be the other way around.

"I wish you'd dress more feminine, Grace." She scolded me, looking over my body from her perch on a stool by breakfast bar, a dissaproving look carved into her face, creating a stress line is see too much of lately as she furrowed her brows.

I stood there, staring at her. I tried my best to act like it didn't bother me, I mean it wasn't  like she's never said anything like it to me before. I tried to ignore her comment but I had already woken up in a bad mood, I scowled outwardly, not caring if she saw me. Maybe I had overthought it, I shoved a croissant in my face and washed it down with a glass of orange juice.
She strolled casually back into the kitchen, I was so caught up in my self pity I hadn't noticed her leave then return. The fluffy crimson red robe that I bought for her birthday last year was trailing on the floor, this was the first time I'd seen her wear it.

However, that wasn't the only thing trailing on the floor, she was also holding a dress bag at arms length like it was a weapon. I shot her a look that could only be interpreted as confusion.