The stupid birds are singing loud enough to wake him from his sleep. Edward groans, cracking an eye open. It's still dark beyond the curtains, fluttering in the early morning breeze.
"It's a great way to wake up, isn't it, listening to the birds sing?" Alphonse asks from his bed.
Edward studies his brother, his flesh-and-blood, breathing, living brother, and agrees.
This was written for a five-sentence challenge with the prompt: author's choice, author's choice, the bluebird carries the sky on his back (Thoreau).