His life

this work is unfinished.

The smell of old coffee, mold, and stale breakfast didn’t mix well. But it reminded him of home. Maybe home wasn’t the best word. He really didn’t know what home was. So maybe the smell told him that there was sure to be a bed in the next room. That was good enough.

He could picture it. The nice warm covers, fluffy pillows and just a little lumpy mattress. Maybe home was a place to sleep, or even just where your bed was. He didn’t care. He just wanted his bed.

When he finally half fell, half walked into the bedroom, he dove for the for the bed he loved. Then when his head smacked the cold floor and his breath was knocked out of his chest, he could have sworn he heard something crack.

He tried to lift his arms to see of the bed was close enough to cling onto but it wasn’t there. He tried to stand but his legs quivered and his arms shook. All he could do was give in and sleep on the floor.

 

 

His head was pounding and he had a terrible crick in his neck. It took him almost a minuet to remember where the fridge was and then another two minuets to find the milk, which happened to be right in front of him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was hoping that it would pass soon because he had classes later and he couldn’t do work in the sate he was in.

Then the thought of classes and how much he had slept hit him. He ran from the kitchen into the living room that was across from it. He fell and slid across the wooden floor to the clock. He grabbed for it, knocked it off its stand then quickly picked it up. 7:37. Whew, that was close. To get to his classes on time he had to leave at eight o’clock.

Author's Note

I used pronouns for the mans name on purpouse. please tell me what you would correct so I can correct it before I finish it.