I woke up three times that day. And, like every other day, I woke up to screaming -- a screaming which slowly escalated and transformed into an electric pulse. Groaning as I rolled over onto my back, I tried to open my eyes; I failed, and threw my arm back against the vibrant pulsating clock behind my head.

Silence.

Not even a second later, the omnipresent noise started up again, more powerful, increased in its anger from a forced silence. I denied its voice for a second time.

And once again it fought back, struggling against the thick, wafting silence of the room in an effort to complete its unwavering goal in life. This time it succeeded. I sat up and fumbled my hands over the corners of its being until I could manage a decent grip on it, and brought it up to my face, fingering the back dial with my middle finger and sliding it into a position of eternal silence for the object. I stared in silence as the dark lines on the object's digital face slowly came into focus, emerging from a blur of colors into their own unique shape.

"Dammit," I groaned. I knew I had to hurry, but I couldn't force my limbs to cooperate. Instead of rushing to the bathroom to perform the morning's cleansings, body and teeth and such, and instead of throwing all of the necessary papers, notebooks, and books into the soggy backpack on the ground, and instead of running to the fridge to grab a large aluminum container filled to the brim with carbonated molten energy, instead of all these morning necessities, I sat up in my bed. I sat up and stared at the ceiling, twirling the digital clock around between my fingers, basking in the warm, sweat-filled sheets around me. There I sat, waiting for my brain to finish its elaborate startup procedure, breathing in the heavy air, already brimming with heat without the assistance of the noontime sun.