A day in the life of Braelyn Clements

I wake on her bed. Shivering, I scowl  at the red light of the heater. Always teasing me, never actually delivering on the promise it makes by existing. Sighing, I swat the digital clock off her dresser as I roll out of bed. She'll probably need a new one again because I swat with my ankle-knife.

I kick her on the way to the kettle and then again on the return journey. She mumbles but rolls over, still asleep on the carpet. That girl could mumble her way through a house exploding. Seriously. 

The spoon chimes against the ceramic as I stir. I watch her breathing into her blankets, clutching her pillow. I sip after a while, leaning against the cool desk. I wouldn't say I'm hooked on this drink but you folks from the past definitely were onto something when you made coffee.

As fun as it is to watch Mia sleep I get bored quickly. After all, she's the only one of us who has any patience for her zombie pets and the clanging that's coming from the kitchen. I am not going in there alone.

So I set down the steaming mug on a shelf and aim. This is not as dangerous as it sounds. I've only ever hit somebody once and that was Adam so it's not like he minded that much, what with being undead and all. All the same I decide to swap my weapon for a book, a hardback, at the last second. It should be just as good. It thuds loudly next to Mia's head as it hits the floor. She starts and blinks. Her pupils are massive, making her eyes almost black, as she surveys the room and yawns.

"Oh, you're up,"  I say lightly like I didn't cause this. "How lucky."

She stretches, rubs her face, and whispers something before sitting up. Wiping her eyes, she glances from the mug to my mouth. I watch her gaze return to a more normal brown colour.

"Got anything less toxic over there, Braelyn?"

"I don't know, do you?" I shrug and watch her pick some glitter out of her hair. She taps a finger against her chin.

"If you make me some hot chocolate I'll rewrite that awkward kiss scene today," she says. Her lips curl up into a knowing smile.

"Fine." I roll my eyes, knowing she's caught me because I do not want to spent the rest of forever in a book with the cringiest kiss scene ever. I flick the kettle switch down, when I turn back she's walking to the door.

"Be right back," she calls over her shoulder. "I think they're hungry again." 

She takes her time, long enough for me to make her vile concoction and set it on the dresser. Long enough for me to idly flick to the page I was on in this book about wolves and teenagers and falling in love. It all seems pretty unsanitary to be honest.

I drop my reading material when she returns. It falls open on the bed as I jump off. The door squeaks as she bursts in, her flushed face making her look breathless. I pick up my new mug of coffee.

"A word of advice," she gasps as she leans up against the door. Her socks slide along the carpet as the door trembles behind her. The pounding coming from the other side makes it sound like the culprit has fists of steel. "Don't randomly create a half-zombie-monster thing and then just leave him there, stewing in a swamp, to go make breakfast. That is not as smart as you might think."

"I will definitely try not to," I say dryly and blow lightly on my steaming mug. She doesn't seem to catch my tone. 

"I didn't even mean to, I was just scribbling a little dialogue down whilst they ate." She nods  backwards, I suppress a shiver. She might claim they eat hot dogs but I've always been dubious about their real diet.

"Pass me that lamp, will you?" Mia looks to the dresser behind me. Morbidly curious, I oblige only to watch her nearly hit herself in the face as she swings it around, still leaning on the door.

"I could call that Tyler guy?" I say, not really knowing if I can but willing to try. Raye once told me Tyler is this super-zombie. I'm sure he could handle this. "Or even Raye?"

"Nah." She grins. "We'll give this a go and see what happens."

"If you die can I have my pen back?" I tilt my head. Her grin just widens. I wonder what it's like to have so much optimism.

"See you on the other side, " she says with a wink. With that she turns, lets go of the door and stumbles out with a shrill battle cry.

I hear a muffled thud followed by the sound of glass shattering. As much as I want to help, I don't move from my coffee. Mia 's a writer. If she didn't enjoy the adventure she could just un-imagine the creature. At least, I'm pretty sure.

She does return, in case you're worried. She returns and we start working on my character. There are interruptions and zombies stumbling in to nibble the corners of things and, at one point, a small fire. There are more moments where I throw things at her, too many to count, but she never holds it against me. There are arguments. There is laughing. She remains wide eyed and full of enthusiasm and I just drink a lot of coffee.

This is how a typical day passes with her, never the same but always following some sort of template wherein adventure and me drinking caffeine seem to be the key ingredients. I would say it's tiresome but it's not like we know how to be any other way. Plus I really like coffee.