Sevia

Waking up in the mornings is horrible, and even more so if it's Monday. Monday, a day that stands out from the rest, not because it holds any special promise, but because it shatters the tranquility that could otherwise accompany the start of a new day. The right to wake up naturally, undisturbed by the jarring sound of an alarm, seems like a luxury reserved for dreams.

Yet, in the midst of this desire for peace, the harsh reality intrudes. The alarm, that cruel disruptor of slumber, pierces through the veil of sleep with its obnoxious tones. Why do we subject ourselves to such torture when we have the power to change it? The sound, always left unchanged, becomes an emblem of dread, its first two notes striking fear into the very core of our being.

As consciousness reluctantly returns, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline, our senses are assaulted. Skin prickles with unease, pupils dilate in response to the sudden rush of blood, and the heart beats an urgent rhythm. And amidst this cacophony, another sound emerges—a voice, harsh and grating, accompanied by the sound of fists pounding against a nearby wall.

The structure of the house trembles under the force of the blows, echoing the turmoil within. The screams of a woman, trapped in her own private hell, reverberate through the air, their meaning lost in translation but their anguish unmistakable.