That was the first thing Zack heard when he was woken up that morning. The young fourteen-year-old peeled away from the warm confines of his hay-stuffed feather-down bed and stretched.
His body was slow and sluggish from the sudden wake-up call. His tired eyes pried themselves open with a small amount of force, the lids unable to open all the way.
With stiff fingers, he rubbed the last remaining trace of slumber from his eyes and glanced around his room.
Everything sat still in the same places as yesterday; Bookcase shoved against the far wall and tucked snug into the corner.
A desk cluttered with inked drawings and notes sat next to the tall shelving unit. Wooden floors, wooden ceiling; the whole nine yards.
The window to the right of his bed was casting ray of morning sun through the thick glass panes and washing the bleached wood floor below.
His ears tuned in to hear the sound of annoyed roaring from downstairs, followed by a snort and a huff of the same intensity.
A smile curved across his sun-kissed skin as he all but tossed the thick quilt off his body and rose from his bed, not even taking the time to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt or pants.
Zack shuffled past the window,
his peripheral vision catching a glimpse of his reflection: Chaotically spiked hair sat atop his head with a single strand hanging in his face deliberately and bright sapphire eyes greeted
his image in the mirror. Rounded ears twitched when he heard noises and speech from downstairs.
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