a slow morning
It happened again. He wiped his face free of the sweat that clung to his face. He hated any signs of weakness and here he was, drenched in his own bodily functions just because of these stupid dreams he was having. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before shuffling off to his sink. A stolen glance in the mirror revealed his disheveled hair and the bloodshot eyes staring back directly into those blue eyes. He remembered he had been crying last, just not what for. Thinking back on drifting off to sleep, he knew he was out of the ordinary, just he didn’t realize how odd he actually was.
Brushing teeth took a whole 2 minutes out of his regular schedule, what a waste. He looked up to see if his hair needed gel when out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a face in the mirror. Andy turned around, but there was nothing there. It was probably just my mind playing tricks on him, he thought, in the morning everything’s unclear. He shuffled away to prepare his breakfast.