The rain poured on and on outside, the water coming down in tiny droplets and sliding down the windowpane of Number One-Eighteen, Crackwallis Avenue. The lone resident of One-Eighteen sat up in bed, watching the rain stream down the glazed window, as thunder clapped loudly in the background, accompanied by ominous shrieks of thunder. At this very moment, he was torn between getting up and fixing himself a nice early breakfast of honeyed toast and tea, or flopping back down under the covers to try and get in a few more hours' rest before trudging off to work. He checked the great grandfather clock on the wall opposite him, and seeing that it read 4:43, he chose the lazy man's path and fell back into the warm, inviting comforts of his four-poster bed.
He drew the curtains around his bed shut in one swift, sweeping motion, imitating the very way he drew his cloak about him before stomping off, nose high in the air, after being offended or insulted by a student, fellow co-worker, or anyone, for that matter. Indeed, he got a good enough taste of it--- though it was a well- suited way of life for him. People hated him, he hated people. That was the way it always had been for Severus Snape, and it wasn't about to change for the world itself.
DONG. Severus awoke, eyes still closed, lying in his bed...DONG. ... lying in his sorrow....
DONG. ....lying in his deep hatred for the world....
DONG. He opened one eye, which was surely bloodshot, like the other was also sure to be.... DONG. ....for he had hardly slept, that irritible rain had kept him up....
DONG. ... How he detested that damn rain....
DONG. Upon that final toll of his clock which marked 'seven, he sat up at last, and stumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser, where he, with diffuculty, managed to wedge open a rusty drawer. Damn that drawer! He shoved it open and pulled out a pair of long, black pants, then advanced to the closet to select the only other clothing garment he owned; which was a long, flowing, black cape. He slowly got dressed, hating the way he could hardly fit into his pants any longer, hating all the people who reckoned he needed to lose weight, hating the people who told him he had to lose weight, and hating all the other people who kept silent near him, yet were thinking along the same lines.... there goes pudgy Professor Snape... After managing to dress himself, with weakness spread over his body, loathing spread over his thoughts, he pulled on a pair of ratty old shoes and a black overcoat that was also too small, and deciding to dump breakfast, headed out the door.