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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/campfires/item_id/1687358-High-School--Irving-Jackson
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Rated: E · Campfire Creative · Short Story · Comedy · #1687358
This was the beginning to a roleplay. Help?
[Introduction]
Alarm clocks were a dumb invention. They beep and sing and don’t shut up, kind of like birds. A long, limber hand reached out, stretching a finger to hit the off switch. A large lump was positioned under a light blue comforter, looking warm and very mildly aware of the fact that it was morning. It slowly rolled out of the bed, placing feet onto the shaggy carpet that was stained with years of food and other assorted things. Using a hand to steady himself on the light beige walls, he climbed into the bathroom. A mix of waters churned, causing smoke and smells to extract from the doorway. After a few minutes and boy emerged, rumbling his wet, blond hair with his hands. Shaking his head like a dog, he rummaged through his closet that was beyond a mess, and grabbed clothing. Getting dressed, he pulled on his shirt as he walked down the stairs, eager for coffee. His mother, Alice, was already up, smiling and singing to a morning show she listened to religiously. Using the syrup bottle as a microphone, she spun and sung as Irving walked in front of her, groaning. He reached out to grab his coffee, but his mother slipped a fully made cup under his hand. Smiling, she left the room. The sun was all too hot, beaming off the top of the yellow Volkswagen Fox, causing the interior to blaze uncontrollably against the anemic air conditioning. The windows rolled down reveled a automobile that could use some work, but had obvious affection from the driver positioned behind the black wheel. It shifted its way towards a parking spot, as unenthused as most students to be back. Sidling its way into the spot, a door creaked open, letting a wave of heat escape, and exposing a long, lean leg, tanned from a summer vacationing. The body attached stretched out, reaching a height over the car. The boy used his mouth to blow his hair out of his eyes as he rummaged for anything he would need for his first day of junior year. Giving up, having only found a cell phone and a leaking pen, he closed the door absent mindedly, and traveled his way towards the gates. The school was far from bustling yet, and he made his way through the halls, looking for a good spot in the courtyard.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/campfires/item_id/1687358-High-School--Irving-Jackson