Excerpt: The White Wonder

Chapter 1: Preparing for Life
The black sony alarm clock sat on the nightstand, the red numbering glaring angrily across the room. Five forty-four. My eyes watch as the numbers hum silently, anticipation threatening and preventing me from further rest. All I see is the alarm clock, the black grooves, the smooth buttons, the blaring red five forty-four. The heavy red blanket rests warmly around my exposed shoulders as I watch and wait.
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
My arm snakes out, shocked by the cool air running goosebumps along my arm as I reach for the big button marked snooze above the angry red five forty-five. There will be no rest. Slowly, grudgingly I moan and deactivate the alarm clock. The black sony alarm clock angrily stares me down, five forty-six, five forty-seven, five forty-eight, five forty-nine, five fifty. I throw the heavy read blankets from my pale white skin, ghastly white, dead white. There is no colour, just pure, powdery white against deep red blankets. The contrast is nothing to me, just a reminder of the trouble I have to work through in the next forty minutes. Five fifty one.
I rise from the bed, my naked body shivering from the cool air as I make my way into the bathroom. My buzz-cut white hair, number one blade, the shortest blade, is barely visible in the bright mirror. My hands move in front of me, grabbing my red toothbrush and sensodyne brand toothpaste. I run the tap a moment, squinting at myself in the mirror. I run the tap, wetting down my white face, rubbing hard, trying to bring colour where it can never appear. I dry my face with the deep red facecloth and shove the toothbrush under the tap, rinsing it smooth. A small dab of toothpaste, spread across the bristles, and the brush is in my mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, the sound of brushing is echoing in my nearly empty apartment. Right side and left side, front, tops and backs; I scrub it clean, making my teeth as white as my ivory pale skin. I place a glass under the tap, capturing the running water. I pull the glass to my mouth, swishing the water around as I clean the remaining paste from my brush. I place the red toothbrush in the stand next to the mirror, close the tap and spit. Rinse and repeat.
Five fifty-eight. I remove the red towel from the stand and place it on the toilet seat, reaching forward and finding the taps on the shower. Two spins for the cold, one spin for the hot. I wait outside the stall a moment longer, waiting for the temperature to adjust before stepping in, soaking my body instantly. The water is running down from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I begin lathering the soap, spreading it across my stark white body, the deep red shower curtain shutting out the light. I slowly turn the hot water higher, water vapour spreading throughout the tiny bathroom. I close my eyes and let the water run over my face, burning away the previous years, taking away the things I don’t want to remember, the things that I always will remember. The memories that torment me every morning.