The Uprising

A groan emits from under piles of blankets, a soft yet unwarranted squeak of displeasure. And here I lie, so ungainly beneath them.

Thoughts of my day to come, my duties and if my brain is well enough to deal with all that's to come. A hitched breath and shaky jaw determine that it will be another day of pressure on my chest.

A slow crawl from under my haven and I'm in the cold air that intrudes from frosty glass panes, rushing for warmth in one form or another, a shaky breath intrudes again. A cup of solace has found my hand, and I peer through the frost, releasing a deep sigh. Forced through practice to slow down the cogs, and I breath in the morning, I smile through uncertain thoughts when one clicks into place. It's snowing.