adelineday

Steven was usually the first in the house to arise, and today was no exception. He slid out of bed, allowing his small feet to touch the floor, before rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor. Each item was a hand-me-down from his great-uncle Stanley, which left him wishing for the privilege of wearing brand new clothes like most other children his age. He sloppily put on shirt, overalls, and trousers, then ran from the room to check his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A freckled face was something else that he'd inherited from his uncle Stanley, and when it was coupled with his unruly hair, many assumed him to be the archetypal rascally orphan. The keyword was 'assumed,' for both of his parents were very much alive, and as such, Steven hardly appreciated it when teachers attempted to mother him against his will. He spun his head toward the door, knowing that his mother, Grace, and father Ross were still lying disoriented in bed. It simply wouldn't do for him to go