Liz Elytra

The alarm clock starts playing a nostalgic tune from Homeworld1. It’s quiet but gets progressively louder as I roll over in my bed, trying to find the mechanism to turn it off. My curled fingers bump into the button set into the wall near my bed, and I press firmly to let the alarm know I am awake. This action signals the dim lamps to pulse on. It is early, but I need the extra time to get ready for my guest this afternoon.