In the beginning, nothing existed. Nothing existed, and it was in abundance...

Mornings always hit me like a storm. Always colder and yet brighter than the nights before. Always the beginning of something unknown. Always filled with the loud banter of everyone before me.

My mom says I find something wrong with everything: "You never see the good in life #%$&. Why do you always find something negative to say about everything?" I don't think I'm negative when I say these things. I think it takes a certain amount of appreciation and observation to recognize what you do and don't like. I know what calls me, and I know what doesn't. She says I'm obtuse when I say that though.

As I climb out of bed, I let the cold tile shock my nerves a bit and give them a wake-up call. My clothes are still hanging on the end of my bed, and my shoes are still in pairs by the dresser. Nothing out of place. My room is still a small corner of the basement, and the laundry machines churning as usual. Nothing out of place. My brother still sleeping past his alarms, and my sisters waddling around, battling sleep. Nothing out of place.

I find the clutter around me soothing, something that feels warm. Only when I feel that hint of warmth do I begin to get ready for school. Brush my teeth, then take a shower. Throw together an outfit, and wake my brother. Rush for a piece of leftovers, and begin to help prepare my younger siblings for school. By the time I finish my food, everyone is on track and my socks are awaiting my shoes. If I do everything right, I catch the bus right after my sister and before my brother.

The ride to school is one filled with a sense of wonder and dread. I ponder the routines and lives of my fellow commuters, and dread the interactions I'll encounter at school. If I ponder hard enough, I can miss the middle school stop and spend an extra hour outside school. Of course, this only happened once, but I fancy the possibility every day. Only when we drive past the grove of witches and devils do I begin to accept my reality. And only then do I begin to numb again, losing sensation of my fingers and stomach little by little. It's another day living in The Insensate Gardens.