What Life To Live

It's still dark inside my room when I hear the alarm clock go off. My eyes are closed, face toward the ceiling, and laying on my back on the hard, floating cot my mother gave me to sleep on before she went out that day and never came back. My eye lids slowly open up to reveal the dark, brown color and I turn my head to the clock, which was still making that annoying buzzing sound I hated to hear. The short, skinny white legs that are attached to my longer upper body wave across the end of the cot to find the platform that takes me to my bathroom. Just before it whisks me away, I barely catch the button to turn off the alarm.
I used to come in here to get ready for school on the weekdays, Monday through Saturday, when my mother was still here. But now I have no time for school. I have to go out and find something to eat before I head to my job.
Now I know why most adults complain about their occupations, because work is hard and they don't like the little pay they get for working so hard for that pain-in -the-ass boss. I take a warm quick shower, brush my teeth, blow-dry my short, red hair, brush it out, then command the platform to take me back to my dark room. The dresser had already picked out my clothes for today along with my over-clothes for work. I slip off the wrinkled, tank top and basketball shorts I had slept in, and as soon as I do so, the cold, robotic arms slide on the tight, ripped tee and skinnys, the ones ripped at the knees, just my style. The machine had also picked my highest high tops with paint splattered all over them. My favorites.
Now I just stare at the black, creased collared over shirt i have to wear for work. It's black, but that's the only part i see fit. I don't know how to put it, but something about it strikes a nerve inside me. I can feel my face get red and my eyes heat up at the sight of it. But no matter how hard I try, I can never put my finger on it; why it gets to me so much. But forget that now, I pull on the wretched thing and find my beat up backpack hanging on the end of my cot-bed on the curved post. The platform now brings me slowly over to it and i slip it on over my lean shoulders, before i head out for another crappy day.