Writing prompt : The sun rose today , but has n't set ...

I ’ m sitting on my front porch, holding a copy of Harlan Ellison ’ s *Shatterday* and wearing a pair of the most powerful sunglasses money can buy. The sunglasses are stolen. I stole them because they idea that sunglasses can be powerful is stupid. They just sit there. They don ’ t do anything. They ’ re polarized and smoked and they don ’ t do anything to UV rays, they just block them, somehow. I ’ m trying to stare at the sun, but it ’ s still too bright. 
 
 I open the book to my bookmark, `` Jeffty is Five,'' but I can ’ t see anything for a minute because of the sun staring. I really hate Harlan Ellison. He ’ s an old man and a hack and an arrogant prick. But there ’ s this girl on the bus who likes him, so now I have to read this crap. Science fiction is for idiots. 
 
 And unfortunately for me, some idiots have very large boobs. 
 
 It feels like I ’ ve been out here for hours, days. Chitter chatter on the radio about magnetic pulses from the sun. Blither blather about America getting hotter while China starts to freeze. But I ’ m not a fool, I know that radios don ’ t work when magnetic pulses screw up the earth, and this radio, it was made in China, probably. Just another butt-load of fiction. Give me a break. 
 
 No, seriously, give me a break. If the earth ’ s stopped spinning, then I ’ m going to be fifteen for a very long time, and that is not acceptable.
