Eli blinked open his bright and vibrant hazel eyes, gazing around his room. He reached back and gently rubbed at his agitated left shoulder, the muscles jumping and twitching. He let out soft yet sharp noises of pain as he rubbed it, but it felt much better afterwards. He sat himself up in bed, gazing around his dark room. He yawned and stretched, his arms going over his head. He slid out of bed, his bare toes touching the long carpet easily. Eli then wandered to a mirror, over his dresser - a cracked mirror, because he had hit it so many times - and observed his bare chest, the long scar. He ran two fingers across it then ignored it, looking down at the dresser. He opened it up and pulled out a long sleeved black shirt and black sweats, and pulled them on. He gazed at himself in the mirror, arranging his long black hair.
Next was the kitchen, downstairs, to curb his appetite. It felt odd walking down the creaking stairs, echoing through the empty house. He had moved out on his own about a year ago, but it still felt like just yesterday. It was different living on his own, without anyone to worry about but himself. He hurried into the kitchen and made himself toast, eating in silence, with no one to talk to.
