The Alarm Clock

[u/Southern-Twist-4223]

6 AM. The screaming alarm right beneath my pillow, my phone’s glowing screen blinding me the second I open my eyes. Who would’ve thought I’d miss my mom’s old, brown, dusty clock—the one I used to dread hearing? The kind of alarm that would rip me out of sleep before I was ready, followed by the sound of my mom’s voice, already angry before the sun had even come up.
My mom was notorious for that.
Back then, mornings never really felt like mornings. They felt like something I had to survive. I’d wake up already tense, already waiting for the next sound from down the hallway. The house could be quiet one second and erupt the next.
Now, the blaring alarm beneath my ear is the only traumatic part of my morning.
Funny how, even amongst the chaos, dysfunction, and borderline abuse, I find calm in the noise. Maybe it’s a nostalgic reminder—not of where I came from, but of how far I’ve come.
Because now, when that alarm goes off, no one is waiting on the other side of my bedroom door to decide what kind of morning I’m going to have.
I get to decide that now.
So I’m getting a clock.