Ambience

The chair creaks as I rise from it; god, what a horrid sound. As I walk through the room, the dust scatters from me like scared little bugs. I tear those sickeningly yellow curtains away from their charge and flinch at the equally revolting sun. Doesn't it have anything better to do than shine in my eyes and remind me of those darkened bags? I kick the generator as I walk away knowing that it won't do anything; damn thing hasn't worked in years. Nothing here works like it's supposed to, anyways. I can't help but ask why any of this matters to me. Why should I care about that chair; about the dust; about those stupid yellow curtains? They don't matter. They're just the little things that I just can't forget about for some reason. Tasteless, silly little things that don't mean anything to anyone else, and to me it's all just noise.

I need some sleep.