At 5:40 every morning, a hand gently grabs a silver contraption off the bedside stand, thoughtlessly disabling the piercing alarm before collapsing for a moment of solitude before the chimes begin once more at 5:42. The body attached to the hand is in no way conscious, but drags itself slowly to a sitting position, clutching the lustrous phone loosely. Perhaps on another fine Monday, the mind attached to the body would be awake enough to wordlessly unlock the contraption and update itself on the world around it, but perhaps not today. It disables the remaining hundred and five alarms.
The body, though nearly awake, has one last function before its mind seizes control of it, filling the body with an ocean of thoughts and removing thoroughly the body’s main function by itself. Thus, the body gleefully sends firm orders throughout its muscles to its legs, and the body jerks forward to inspect the contraption at the end of its bed.
At the foot of the sturdy cot grips a brass balance to a wooden table. The red wood of the stand glints lazily in the early morning light, refusing to creak under the stress of this morning’s check-in. The body is not here for the table, though, rather the balance atop it. The figure blinks its dry, heavy eyes twice, before beginning its daily inspection. The brass shines dimly without varnish, though it is not rusted.
The scales chained to the lackluster beam move not a millimeter, awaiting command. Check.
The list appears to take many moments to proceed through, though the body blinks once more and its tired eyes have already learnt every updated condition on this fine morning. Now, it commands the eyes not to blink and focuses one each on the scales. If the eyes are functioning well today, they are able to detect a small movement of the balance, the slight quivering of its beam. Which side represents which is up to the eyes on any given day, but today, the left holds swirling, grey, maturity; the right holds soft, pink, sincerity.
To many, the two may hold a symbiotic relationship, but to this mind - which, let us not forget, is still asleep - the more adult its concepts breach, the less empathetic its actions tend to be. As the body prepares its response to today’s balance, the mind flashes wakeful in a sudden rush of irrationality.
“Today we are mature? Why then, today, let us act upon our lonely childhood trauma and cease to ameliorate relationships we hold with our peers," the body’s small mind shouts, pouring such declaration through the mouth of the body.
“Yes, let us!” it responds to itself, pointlessly, and so the body grimaces and reluctantly accepts the gust of commands its mind fabricates.