Hanna Paine

English I – 7

5/8/2014

At the crack of dawn, Beck Gallagher tousles the sheets covering him and plants his bare feet on the timeworn floor. He was a thin, pale boy with long legs and occupied veiny, young hands. His eyes were a whimsical, powdery blue that pierced through his morning window. He waved a shaky hand in and out of his fluffy, untamed hair. He rolled up one shirt sleeve as he eased his weight off the cot in his bedroom. Beck aimlessly dug through piles of half-baked writings on his mahogany desk then adhered to a few scribblings. The unfinished scriptures showed, by the inky mistakes and crossed-out ideas, the downfall in his dreams. Scuffing his shoes on at the foot of his bedroom doorway, he brisked into the kitchen, grabbing his chipped cup of water he had poured the night before. Then he walked out from the apartment and nonchalantly motioned downstairs. Beck threw his distraught papers into his bicycle basket on his Razor bike, and chucked one leg over it to sit. He cranked the breaks twice for good measure while squinting his cloudy eyes, looking towards the street for his daily route. Beck pumped his feet on the pedals to a rhythmic beat as he started out to the sidewalk with a steady coast. The sun began rising with Beck as he stared at this city’s notorious wonder of empty streets. Stopping, he shuffled his feet with his wheels still slowing. He was at the local newspaper stand, tossing papers in his basket manning for work as a paper delivery boy. Sighing for both relief and hindrance, Beck smirked a little and started down for his first neighborhood of the day.