It's Hard to Get Started Sometimes.

Creaker is always tired. 300-word Flash

It’s Hard to Get Started Sometimes

His mother whipped his covers off. Creaker shivered and tried to cover himself again.
“You’re going to be late for work,” she told him sternly.
Creaker rolled over and landed beside the bed. His mother handed him clean clothes and shooed him into the bathroom. Creaker reminded himself that he had to work to help support everyone in the house.

“Night work is the pits,” he grumbled but not loud enough for his mother to hear. He knew it was his duty as the oldest child to help out, but sometimes he wished he could have a lie-in, just once.
He slicked back his hair and smoothed down his clothes. He kissed his mom and flew out of the house. As he raced to work, he kept praying he would make it before the boss did.
Through some cosmic miracle, Creaker did just that. He stamped his card and flew to his station. Then it began.
Working in an old fun house, everyone had a job. Creaker was exceptional at his. He went to the ball toss first, as always.
He walked on the counter and the floor, making the boards creak and moan. After two hours of that, he moved to other locations. Each one made the fleshies shriek and run. Creaker was proud of his work.

Finally, as dawn cracked the sky, Creaker signed out from work, as worn and weary as a ghost can get. Unable to fly, he dragged his shroud home fighting sleep the whole way.
“Hello, bed! I missed you so,” he said when he saw it. He fell into it, asleep before he hit bottom. His mother, silently floated in to cover him up and kiss him good-day.
“I wish he didn’t have to work so hard.”