"Anne. Annie. Annie!" Anne Stoiles woke up to her father's voice. She gazed around her cluttered room to the doorway where her father stood. He looked very professional in his ash-grey suit and black overcoat. But that horrendous orange BC Lions scarf tore the entire look apart.

"Réveiller, hon. It's twenty-after seven. You miss your bus, you're not getting a ride from mom. She went to work early this morning." With that, he smiled and walked back down the stairs.

Anne rolled over onto her back and gazed at her clock-radio. He was wrong, as usual. It was only ten-after. Anne dropped back into her bed and relaxed, staring at the blank ceiling. It was Friday, which meant she was more tired than usual.


"Will we get out of this little hell...?" ~Wise the Artist 18:50, February 27, 2012 (UTC)

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