Fineliner Stew

4:45 a.m. – Beep. Beep. BEEEEP. BEEEEEEP! My alarm screeches from across the room, taunting my very existence. I roll over. Fuck. The World. Who needs this shit, anyway? Not me. That’s for sure. In an attempt to roll over, I discover my blanket has, yet again, wrapped its non-existent octo-arms around me like a burrito with a death grip. Dammit. I guess I’ll have to fall back asleep like a twisted ogre who sweats too much.

4:46 a.m. – The incessant beeping has stopped. Thank the Fae above. Now to catch some more z’s before Morning, and her infamous glory decides to fuck with me again. I shake my fist as a general warning before I fade, yet again, from this treacherous day.

4:50 a.m. – I am zapped from the candy-riddled clouds I was floating on and plunked into the fiery pits of hell… also known as my bedroom. Morning is back, slapping me in the face with her obnoxious, relentless beeping. Whhhhhhy?

4:51 a.m. – Like a ninja, I jolt from bed, forgetting about the giant burrito-pus clinging to me like seaweed from the darkest bloody shadows of the sea. With a giant THUD, I hit the ground and begin the fight of my life attempting to escape the madness.

4:53 a.m. – I emerge from Hell relatively intact. Morning almost got me, but I lived to see another day. As I plop down in front of my computer, coffee magically in hand, I suddenly get an idea for a tutorial. Fast as a sloth, I rise from my chair with a renewed faith in humanity. Just kidding. That just sounded epic so I added it. My faith in humanity remains next to non-existent during my first cup of morning java.

4:55 a.m. – Crayons fly from the cupboard. Green. Blue. Red. No, not red. I scramble to pick the hideous beast from the ground and toss it out the window. Yellow, Purple, Pink. They’re landing in a scattered pile behind me. Fuck it. I chuck a few more for good measure. Yes. Yes, this will do, I cackle to myself.

4:56 a.m. – Grabbing a pot from the cupboard, I head over to my little crayon pile and get to work. I put the pot on the stove, turn the element to high, and then toss in the crayons, wrappers and all. I can hear them screaming as they pop, crack and melt down into crayon soup. This brings me joy. Then I zip over to get the fineliner markers, all of them, even the red, and toss those in, too.

5:10 a.m. – Smoke billows from my marker stew, threatening to set off the fire alarms. Quick as can be, I remove it from the stove and take a moment to relish in my victory. At long last… I’d understood the importance of blending. Who knew it could be this easy?

5:11 a.m. – T.J. Crayons darts from the bedroom yelling, “Evacuate! The house is on fire!”. I chuckle to myself. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m blending markers with crayons! I call this technique… Tip to Pot. Hah!”

T.J. frowns, clearly not pleased with my new-found blending skills, and heads back to the bathroom.

5:12 a.m. – Time to get ready for work. Until next time…

© 2017, Anisa Claire. All rights reserved.
The author has granted, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Author Notes

3 Comments for “Fineliner Stew”

Raymond Tobaygo


Good morning, Anisa

Enjoyed the individual’s daily battle to escape from the shackles of sleep and the morning’s always persistent burdens. Being an early riser I can identify to a point with the trial and tribulations one must face every morning.
Thank the Fae above. What is a Fae?
more z’s before (M) (m)orning, danger.
on fire!”(.) I chuckle t

Take care and stay safe,


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