My Alarming Dream Essay, Research Paper
" My Alarming Dream " My little old copper alarm clock
rests on my desk tick – tocking away each inevitable
second of the day, only to shake, rattle, and ring me to
wake every morning. As I lay there in bed, half dead,
sometimes wishing maybe that I was, achy and tired
stretching and scratching like a jungle cat, I feel the morning
crawl into my house. The smell of fresh coffee creeps under
my door my sister’s radio blares the newest teen sensation
and drowns out the morning news light seeps in through
cracks in my curtains and the cold of a winter night forces
me to burrow back under a warm heap of scratchy old
quilts as I tell myself, "five more minutes and I’ll get up." I
contort myself into a comfortable knotty little ball under the
heavy coverings and bury my head into the broken-in old
feather pillow searching for warmth and what remains of
my last dream. BRRRIIIIAAAAAANNNNGGGGG,
ka-tank, tank, ka-tunk. My brain is electrocuted to life by
the cantankerous little alarm clock. It’s fine springs and
wires click into their places the polished metal bells get beat
by the whipping hammer as it snaps back and forth. The
bells scream out in alarm. It hops and jumps does the wake
up dance on its stubby little legs, just to tell me it’s time to
go. As the cl
with a daring hand and grab it. It’s shockingly cold and
damp nearly frozen by the night air that had blown in
through my still open window. Only after I’ve set the clock
down, do I notice the face has been frosted over by the
night’s dew. The ticking hands run behind an opaque wall
of ice doing their best to keep the time despite their arctic
environment. Just as I was about to call it a day and crawl
back under the blankets, the coffee gods called to me from
their percolating temple, "Corey.!.!.!. The best part of
waking up, is Folgers in your cup." Stunned, I looked up to
see Juan Valdez and his trusty donkey sidekick standing in
the doorway with a mug of steaming joe. "Hola Senor,"
Juan greeted me. "Mornin’ Juan, " I replied as I crawled out
of bed reaching for my steamy salvation. Just then it
happened, Juan’s donkey reared back its head, gnarled it
hairy lips, and emitted a noise like no earthly being could
ever conjure… BRRRIIIIAAAAANNNNGGG, ka-tank,
ka-tunk, tanka, tunk. "Oh No," I say to myself, "the
donkey has eaten my alarm." Only then do I realize it was
just a crazy dream and carry on with my morning routine,
all thanks to an ancient copper alarm clock that rests on my
desk. *Note to self – No more coffee before bed . . .