inspired from waking my roommate up to use her computer, knowing her wants yet ignoring them

My pillow.

My pillow on my bed.

My pillow on my bed inside my bedroom.

My pillow on my bed inside my bedroom that opens to French doors.

And someone is at the doors. Why are they at the doors? What could they want? I want them to go away.

“Go away!” Cassondra howled out from underneath the down comforter. The layered comforter sucked in like it had the wind knocked out of it. The stickers of men on the bedpost nearly dropped their jaws. Are you serious right now?

“Cassondra,” the voice let out slowly and smoothly, taking advantage of the second s. It wouldn’t work, not the second s trick. Who does this kid think he is?

“Shut up... go away!” The first two words stuck with resolve, the second set sounded unsure of itself, it crept out as a beg , where as the first were uncompassionate and cold, like a pompous Prince to a poor pauper, it was a battle of the classes alright. Cassondra’s fingers dug into the sheets in front of her face. The light snuck in like a cold-hearted bitch.

“God damnit Cassondra!” The voice said louder as Cassondra heard the jewelry bag bounce and chime against the door.

The comforter scrunched even tighter into a fast collapse as if the pleura snapped. Awake with pneumothorax , Cassondra drew one curtain from her face.

“I’m so tired,” Cassondra said with a smile. The smile was cute and shy, probably snatched from a sheep that wandered into Cassondra’s subconscious, tired and lost from a jump that went far across the fence. His name was 72, which was rather bland, but somewhere someone was not sleeping because 71 was followed by 73.

Cassondra wanted to take 72 and throw it at Peter’s face right now, but yet she just smiled and wondered why she wasn’t sleeping.