What's Left to Rema

Her eyes pulled themselves apart, reluctantly, for the first time of the day. A soft coo and a tight scrunch/squint kept the bright morning light from pushing itself past her eyes. The light aided in pulling her fully out of the restless sleep that had so briefly visited. Her right hand was waking as well. Cramped and crumbled around a pen. The paper it had been wedded to had been pushed into the comforter with her sleep writhing. The tip of the gel inked utensil had laid itself directly into the flat sheet. leaving a 2 inch by 2 inch spot of dark blue ink. "FUCK! Not again!" flew out of her tired mouth. This would not be the first set of sheets to get dropped off at the fluff n' folders with this distinct affliction. She was easily shamed so actual dread formed and tightened in her chest when she thought of the interaction. She retracted the pan and sat it on her bedside table. She squirmed herself out of the blankets and reached with her legs to try and find the floor. That movement produced a sound of paper crumpling which prompted her to look for the page that she had been writing on. She found it quickly. She had made it through the piece and had succumbed to her absolute exhaustion just two letters from completing the title. It read What's Left to Rema Her chest clenched and her eyes burnt worse than from the harsh morning light when she instantly and fully remembered what the piece was about. She left the title unfinished and put herself in the shower to try and wash it off.