Music blared from plastic speakers, the sound distorted in the cold morning air. Tal rose from his bed like a zombie from the grave, stiff, groggy. His hand shot out and slammed the big black button down to shut off the music. He let out a groan and threw the blankets off.

“Morning, then?” he muttered, jumping down from the soft nest of covers, his bare feet hitting the chilled varnished floor with a thump. He wobbled, grabbed at his dresser for support, and headed to the bathroom. Clouds of steam hung in the hallway, meaning that his older brother had gotten to the shower first. With another groan, he stumbled into the tiled room and turned the faucet until the arrow pointed to the red circle on the left. It ran icy, then lukewarm, but it wouldn’t go higher. His brother had stolen all the hot water.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growled, and jumped into the cold shower.

Five minutes later he emerged, dripping, and groped for a towel on the empty metal rack. He cursed again, held his breath, and shot out of the bathroom just as his brother poked out his head from his room.

“No towel, bro?” his brother said, and laughed before slamming his door shut again.

Tal glanced at his alarm clock, the machine that planned his life while ticking down the seconds to his death, to see the time. Then he threw on some clothes and ran downstairs. He could see his breath in the air as he made toast, rubbing his hands over the toaster for warmth. The silence took shape in the morning, pressing in on him, entering him when he breathed, and forming a ball of loneliness in his stomach. When the toast popped up with a loud clanging noise, he jumped a foot in the air and snatched his browned bread from the machine’s angry clutches. Tal scowled at the toaster as he smeared butter on his breakfast. He took a huge bite from the toast, picked up the teapot, and slammed it down onto a burner that worked. He grabbed the match box from beside the stove and lit one as he turned the knob, urging the gas to flow. The burner click-click-clicked, and then the gas lit with a whoosh, the burner breathing blue fire, and Tal blew out the match.

While the water was heating, Tal finished his toast with a few final crunches and snatched his favorite mug from the cabinet, the one with the rising sun painted on it by his mother in the seventies. He spooned in a few mounds of sugar, and then dropped a tea bag into the mug.

Tal then gathered his things from their places on the ground, odd pencils and pens, searching for textbooks he needed, papers, homework assignments, his folders and his calculator. From the other room, he heard the teapot yelling. Dropping everything with a crash, he ran to quiet it before it woke up his father. He flew into the kitchen and shut the burner off, and then paused, perfectly still, to listen. There was the inevitable door slamming, and then his father’s angry grumbles and footsteps on the stairs.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Tal repeated, turning away and ignoring his possessions strewn all over the floor, pouring himself a cup of tea. His hands shook as the steps became louder, and he spilled hot water all over the counter.

“Tal!” came his father’s booming voice from the bottom of the stairs. “What the hell was that noise?”

“N-nothing!” Tal said, slamming the teapot down on the back burner, grabbing the string and bouncing the teabag up and down in his mug.

“That wasn’t nothing! You woke me up!”

“Hey,” Tal said, glaring, “I’m sorry for waking you.” He crossed his arms over his chest and checked the kitchen clock. It was almost time to leave for school. Walking past his dad’s enormous form, he retrieved his school supplies from the ground.

“Don’t talk to me like that! I want a straight apology, not some bullshit you cooked up on the spot!”

“I’ll think about it,” Tal said angrily, shoving everything into his backpack. Avoiding his father again on the way to the kitchen, he dropped a couple of ice cubes into his tea and gulped it down. “I’ve got to go,” Tal said, slipping on his skateboard shoes, picking up his skateboard, and ducking out the door.

“Tal!” his father shouted from behind him. “Tal, get back here!”

Tal’s heart sank when he thought of what he would return to. Instead, he focused on getting to school, pumping his left leg hard as he skated down the middle of the street. More than once, a car roared as it approached on his left and nearly hit him, but he skated on. As he saw the prison-like school down the street, the sun came up over the top of the building and made the glow golden. He paused at the corner to bathe in its light and he remembered why he loved mornings.