Waking Up

Sarah slowly rolled over onto her back until the beam of sun piercing through the crack in the blind had fully engulfed her face. Winter had been long and the feeling of natural sunlight was blissfully comforting. The street outside had started to get busy. Building works from next door were gradually humming into life and taxis tiresomely squeaked to a halt before each speed bump.

Stanhope Terrace was always busy, although not so much on Sundays, and she’d spend hours wrapped tightly in her sheet, dipping her toes in and out of the fresh air and then plunging them back into the warmth of the duvet. After an elongated stretch she’d curl up into a tight ball like a hedgehog, and breathe in the smell of the morning as hard as she could, squeezing her eyes closed and nuzzling her nose deep into the pillow.

There was something tranquilising in the mild sedation of waking up. Her body was caught in a dilemma between deafening the faint rumbles of her hungry stomach whilst resisting her dreamy state of mind; that kept pulling her back into sleep, forcing her eyes to close and her body to relax even further.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a child from outside shrieked and Sarah stirred, now maddeningly aware of the growls from her empty stomach. Using every muscle, she pulled herself up onto the foot of the bed, rubbing her eyes, and peeling them apart, brushing off the sleep that had glued them together for so long.