No, not John Grisham, sorry to dissappoint you.
It’s actually a new attempt at a short story. This was inspired by a the friends who appear in it as themselves.
Hope you like it. Here goes nothing.
Alarm clock’s digital display clocks 6:00 am in a red digital font against the black backdrop. Radio switches itself on to 100.6 FM and the morning talk show din fills the room. There is a stir in the bed and a lone arm stretches out from under the covers and hits the snooze button with great force. Arms and legs appear from under the giant quilt as he wills himself into awareness. A yell pierces the new found silence. Assem jumps out of bed and stretches as he lets out a gigantic yawn. Today is the day.
She takes her cell phone out of its pouch for the nth time that night to check the time. The bright lime green HTC background glowing eerily in the dark room. The clock on the screen read 4:00 am; still too early. She has been tossing and turning all night long. She got out of bed and into her slippers and once again that night trudged her way through the cluttered room and down the dark corridor yet again. She paused at the bathroom door as a wave of nausea washed over her. She braced herself and the feeling passed. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was. She had not slept a wink all night and has been making shuttle trips back and forth to the bathroom, her stomach a complete mess. Why couldn’t tomorrow come already. She just wanted to get this over with.
She walks up to the serenely sleeping figure, she looks so peaceful it breaks her heart to have to wake her up. She stands there for a while watching her daughter sleep, she has not changed at all, yet it is a wonder how her little girl is all grown up. She glances at the clock on the wall and remembers their discussion from the previous day; under no circumstance was she allowed to let her sleep in. She walks up to the bed and lovingly strokes her daughter’s hair. “Yalla Mama, it’s time to get up, you don’t want to be late for your interview.” The girl stirs in bed attempting to shrug off the voice. Her mother persists, shaking her gently, that seems to work. The girl opens her eyes and looks at her mom; blinks a couple of times to bring the blurred image into focus. “Mama, what time is it?”. Her mom smiles “It’s time to get up ya 3yoon Mama, yalla don’t be late, I’m making omelettes downstairs”.