AN: Thanks for all the reviews :)
The alarm clock certainty is asking for it this morning, thought Amy. She groaned into her pillow as the annoying buzz filled her ears again, and as usual, always too early. She swatted at the alarm clock as if it was an evil fly that kept darting away from her grasping fingers. Her face sank as she unintentionally tipped out of bed, a result of the swatting. She staggered across her tiny box of a room until she nearly tripped over her destination; a flimsy desk, into which she slammed her fist, missing her target by a mile and causing the desk to shake and threaten to collapse.
"Woah!" Called a voice from the other room. "What happened here? World War III?"
A woman who was swathed in every possible kind of blanket waddled into the room as quickly as she could, considering that she was practically a mummy. Her blue robe trailed behind her in mid-stride, and she rushed back to pick it up and wrap it around her again. "When did it get so cold in here?" She complained. "I was feeling toasty in bed, under all the covers."
Amy just raised her left eyebrow, an ability she was glad to have. "Yeah, me too," she sighed with a touch of sarcasm. "Until the revenge of the alarm clock."
"But its Sat -," her mother questioned.
"I know," Amy nodded.
"Well, it's a good thing that you're up anyway, because we have a bunch of errands to run," she announced with a fake smile as she turned to leave the room.
Amy turned away and started to pull on some faded jeans. But her mind was elsewhere, and soon she found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, staring of into space, deep in thought. She flopped down on her back, and unintentionally she found herself face-to-face with her father.
Well, not actually her father, just a picture. She had never met her real father; she just had a two picture of him in her room. She studied his short hair, well-defined features, and most of all his eyes. They were so deep and blue, like a cold swimming pool on a sweltering summer day. She had questioned her mother for years about him, but only recently was she able to actually realize what she was talking about.
She had essentially been a product of a one night stand. At first, she was alarmingly hurt; she didn't want to be a "mistake." But her mom told her that she loved her father very much, and had known him for many years. They had even planned to get married. But then something happened, something her mom, Monica, didn't want to talk about. Amy always wondered what that something was, and one of her dreams was to find her dad and get his side of the story. Monica always said she had no idea where he was, or if he was still alive, but Amy could tell her mom's heart still ached for him.
A knock on the door shattered her thoughts as she muttered, "Come in."
"What do we need at the grocery store?" questioned her mom. She sank onto the flimsy bed and put her arm around Amy's shoulder. Amy pondered asking her yet another question about her dad, but decided to forget it. Her mom was going through enough anyway. Amy could tell she was lonely, and always thought of him. She could have dated, for she was attractive, but she always opted to stay home and watch reruns on TV. Her shoulder length hair was the color of black coffee and spilled down her head and framed her face nicely. She had eyes that instantly gazed over everything they saw and absorbed it into her personal collection. But maybe it was her eyes that kept people away. They seemed haunted, like she had seen way more than her share of sin. Amy sometimes felt bad for leaving her at home when she went out with her friends. But she always rationalized that she had plenty of thinking to do. It always seemed that way at least.
"Mom, I want to know my dad, you know, meet him, and get to know him," declared Amy.
"Well that's understandable honey. I wish I could see him again too. I guess I wish a lot of things," was the dreary reply.
