The morning of Friday the 8th of February 2019

I woke up at 6am this morning, and was overjoyed when I realised that I did in fact have a whole 2 hours left in bed.  A blissful two hours of deep sleep and relaxation, oblivious to the world. Why did they have to go so fast? Maybe because describing two hours of sleep would be boring, and would waste everyone’s time, but I digress.

So when these two hours came to their inevitable end, my alarm blared its usual disgusting tune, and I grudgingly crawled out of bed. I ate some cereal, watched a video or two and then got ready for class. 

Leaving the flat I made my way down the stairs and opened the door.  A tremendous gust of wind hit me right in my face with such a force that it made me somersault backwards. Normally the writer would explain this strange behaviour, but right now he can’t be bothered.

We follow behind as I walk to the arts centre and approach the double automatic doors. They begin to close as I come near, and make no effort to open themselves up again. Frustrated, I kick the door and the glass shatters into a thousand indistinguishable sparkles. I do not injure myself because the writer says so.

Sauntering through, several hundred people await inside. They all applause at my valiant efforts of breaking into the building and congratulate me on my great feat.

It has barely been half an hour and I already want to go back to bed. But if that happened then the plot wouldn’t advance and that would be a bit shit, wouldn’t it? Instead, I choose the slightly more exciting choice of making my way into the main building.

This proves to be a lot more lively than usual, as celebrations of the Chinese New Year are well underway in the hub, and the smells of simmering oriental dishes and the clamour of excitable crowds snake their way into the corridor.

Curious, I decide to investigate the commotion. I pass a red Chinese dragon lying on the floor and hope that it won’t come alive before me. I pass a Kung Fu class and watch as the black sofas are pushed aside to make room for a line of drums spread across the floor.  I join the parade as it dances around the hub in bright red and orange.

Then I go to class.  One would expect something more exciting and interesting to end off a story, but the writer thinks this ending is more than sufficient.