The shrill morning alarm shrilled that woken Brandon up, but while he did thisawoke, he had no idea his world was about to change. Laying there sleepless and decanted there like a useless piece of rubber, he rubbed his eyes and then shielded himself from the blaring light by placing his hands over his face. From his bedroom, he was able to hear the radio from the kitchen and it sounded like his sister, Sarah, was up and ready to face the rays on this fine sunny day. On this occasion, he heard the blasting music of country western music and he was so deprived that he had no interest of even tuning in.

He waved his legs over the position of the bottom, stretched his arms out as if partaking in a sporting event before he yawned. He then ran through the cobwebs of the recitals of his morning routine that he did daily. He had never changed that for him, nor was it ever moving to act this morning alone.

He set up the clothes that he placed before him for the day ahead and minutes later, as he came down the stairs in the tight -spaced stairway wihere there was a selection of timidly white-like rose framed photographs, whereich hiseld warm memories of his childhood. The trip to the seaboard at the age of five, with his black cap pilloried across his forehead that seemed out of position. His sister was there on the same day in a familiar hat, a colourless straw-type hat and the time they spent there in the eEastern sun shone like the aces were away. He forced himself to turn his attention away from that and he went into the kitchen where his sister, who bobbled away to the beat of the song, “9 to 5” as she slipped down the dried cornflakes down into her mouth. He smiled as he joined her, and as he walked past, the disturbancesd of ther hair in the childlike act of brothers and sisters that came like a fragrance that they warded off.