Personal Narrative-The Raven

Sunlight filters through the windows until the room is painted in hues of amber. The brilliance of the rays overwhelms the shadows formed by twilight, driving away the monsters that thrive in its inky depths. The aurora tumbles like fresh snow upon a sheet of unyielding ice, doing little to penetrate the December chill that descended overnight.
The wintery atmosphere is far away as I open my eyes, encased in a cocoon of commodious blankets. For a brief moment in time, I am alone. The troubles of the day haven’t taken their accustomed spot at the forefront of my thoughts, and I lie unmarred in a cloud of comfort. Tangled limbs unfold like tree branches and extend into the indulgent sky. These hands are strangers, flexing with no aim other than to be alive. Air cascades into cavernous lungs, replacing the scant breaths that come along with sleeping. My commitments have yet to rupture
I wonder why there are left and right handed people, or why humans seem to be the only animals who cry. How could Harry Potter forgive Snape after all he has done? What time is it? I glance over. The clock reads 9:08 a.m., and a sigh escapes my lips. I’m seriously considering staying in bed, I mean why not? For the first time in a while, I’m not sure. I focus on what I know to be true. The blankets surrounding me are leaden, encasing me in a sarcophagus of good intentions. Hands struggle to escape the wreckage, protruding from unlikely positions like a tree in a tempest. Breathing becomes strenuous, and though I know the answer, I still wonder why I have to get out of bed. I think maybe I could instead make an honest living as a farmer. I consider it seriously for a moment before realizing that I’d tire of it too quickly. Maybe I could have a farm but in space, with zoo animals sailing through tunnels uninterrupted. Penguins would fly for the first time and everything would be alright, except for the matter of potty