x X Zane Micheals. X x
It was bright, early, and bright. Two things that Zane did not like. He almost hated them more than a nasty hangover, one of which he was having now. His head was throbbing and screaming at him. To make things worse his alarm began to go off like it did. This only made him groan and knit his brows together from the pain of hearing the obnocious sound. He rolled over to turn his back to the dasterdly device, but he rolled the wrong way. Before he knew it he was kissing the floor.
Immidiatly, Zane drew back and wiped his mouth and tongue on his worn out night shirt. The look on his face showed his utter disgust. Heck, he never cleaned his room much. When he did clean, he only picked up the trash and clothes that littered his hard-wood floor. He was the "party animal" after all. His parents detested this quality as most parents would. Yet, they never did bother in telling him to pick up after himself. That's one of the many things he liked about them.
Once he had picked himself up, he ran his fingers through his tangled black locks.
"Ow! Damn, my hair sure has knots in it."
He always said something along those lines in the morning without realizing it. As he walked into the rather large bathroom, he continued to weave his finger tips in and out of his messy, and unclean hair. He wasn't tender-headed, so he was used to the rough treatment of his hair. After all, many girls insisted on pulling and tugging at it. He never understood why, though.
Accidentally, he slammed the bathroom door a tad too hard. The sound resonated throughout the almost empty area he now inhabited. He didn't even bother looking in the mirror knowing that he looked horrible. He always did on morning such as this. In just two swift moves he had yanked back the curtain on one end and turned on the hot water. Then, he carefully undressed. He was still a bit tender from the last party. After stepping in, he sighed feeling the warm water running down his back, chest, and everything else. The flow seemed to sooth his aching muscles. Though, he could not stay in there for too long. So, he got done as soon as possible.
Having soaped up his body, lathered and rinsed his hair, and turned off the water, he peeled back the damp curtain allowing more steam to fill the room. He reached over and grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his hips to cover himself. He did a quick run-through of his hair with his fingers before walking over to the foggy mirror and wiping it with his free hand. In a kidding way, he sent an air kiss to his reflection only to laugh at himself afterwards. He joked like this many times. It was just in his nature along with other things. It took him about five minutes to find his flat iron and giant purple comb. When he found them he immidiatly face-palmed himself seeing as they were directly infront of him. This happened ever so often.
Now, it was smoke that began to fill the room up to the brim from the scolding hot straightner going right onto his wet hair. A smell of a dead animal began to surface. Zane didn't smell it, he was far too used to it for it to be smelt by him. His parents didn't like it, though. He could just imagine the expressions that teir faces were to hold once the smell traveled through the vents and into the kitchen. He laughed upon hearing there yells and cries of agony at the putrid scent they were now inhaling.
Zane smiled at himself in the mirror once his hair was done. All he had left to do was brush his canines and put on clothes. It was the latter one that he detested. He didn't really enjoy putting clothing on. He believed that if everyone was meant to wear clothes then everyone would be born in them. He knew people would laugh, so he never told anyone. Unaware of it, he started to run his fingers, once again, through his now very hot hair to cool it down. This had become quite a habit of his ever since he started to straighten his hair.
Zane groaned as he waddled into his bedroom. Sometimes, he would would walk like this as if pretending to be a penguin. With towel still on, he plopped down onto his bed with emmense force causing him to bounce back up slightly. He layed back and placed his fore arm over his eyes. Everything was silent for a few moments. All that could be heard was the faint ticking of his analogue clock hanging on the wall. It was then that a thought occurred to him. It was Saturday! He had no reason to get up so damned early. Then, why had his alarm been set? He seemed to ahve forgotten. So he reached over to his night stand and grabbed his back track phone and slid it open to the full keyboard. He was going to send a text.
