Leaned up against the commuter bus glass, she was dreaming of sleeping in. Breakfast in bed for the rest of her life, extra hollandaise and thick peppery bacon. All of the hazelnut coffees. Nothing important would happen in her life before noon.
On her last day of work she'd take a heavy sledge to her alarm clock. The remains of which would stay on her bed stand as a testament. A relic to a time that used to be her story.
She would firmly, absolutely reclaim her world. Instead of that nagging feeling that she was powerless, enslaved to it's every whim and worry.