The Rising Moon
The day was hot, a wet heat. The kind that made your clothes sticky before you even put them on. Mark lay in bed, starring at the glass lamp in the center of the ceiling, knowing that any moment his mother would burst through the door and turn it on. He was late, he already knew that but something inside him made him tired without even stirring. His muscles felt as though he'd worked all day and his bones seem to ache from repeated motion, though he had done nothing.
The white flash hurt and he quickly covered his eyes with an arm trying to blot out the wicked light. His ears hearkened a new pain as his mother sharp tone split the air. Mark! Why on earth are you still in bed? Do you know what time it is? Up! Now! His mother seemed more irritable than normal, but Mark guessed that was due to the unruly heat. It was enough to make anyone cranky.
Young man you'd better be out of this room when I get back or so help me... She let the threat stand in the a