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The rusty, metal springs squeak with my weight as I creep out of bed,
My cotton socks make soft pitter-patters on the floor.
My footsteps rustle on the narrow hallway to the stairs.
I edge down, gripping tight to the wooden railing.
I hear the middle stair’s agonizing creak.
I wince and pause, expecting the shuffle of slippers from my parents’ bedroom.
I am met with soft snores and twelve chimes from the grandfather clock.
Exhaling, I jump and land on the floor with a thud.
I tap my way past the laundry room,
Where Curby, our cockapoo, grunts and twitches in deep dreams.
Outside the kitchen window, crickets chirp, cicadas hum, and frogs croak.
At last, I reach my destination, grab a plastic cup, and push the button
Clear, refreshing liquid splashes against the sides,
And I gulp it down, feeling it trickle down my throat.
I make it back to my safe haven, quietly closing the door.
Finally, I am reunited with my pillow and release a contented sigh.