《Traverse the Void》 Chapt-??/??. Traverse the void: green bird of happiness Chapt-??/??. A thick mist formed all around. Light particles started appearing throughout the room as a shadowed figure moved closer. The orb of light, created from the pressured particles, gave off a transparent yet mirroring glow. An image slowly materialized within the orb¡¯s surface.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. It is now my turn to speak. What? Who am I you ask? Who are you? Exactly. We will both keep our secrets. Now then, let me begin my narration. Chapter 1 Chapter 1 It was a summer day. The day felt quite long, fairly hot, as expected from the season, but this didn¡¯t seem to disturb the two young friends walking down the granulate path of a local park during an odd yet yearly summer festival. The blinding sun kept the atmosphere radiant; the lack of trees made room for the sky. ¡°Did you bring any money?¡± said Tiffany. Dylan looked around his backpack to no avail. ¡°Shoot, no I forgot,¡± he sighed, tilting his head slightly down, ¡°I must¡¯ve left it at home.¡± Tiffany looked at him with playful disappointment, whatever that meant. ¡°You had one job Dylan, one¡­¡± ¡°I know, I know¡­¡± ¡°Well now what?¡± ¡°I guess we can walk around.¡± And that¡¯s what they did. They walked around, stopped, continued walking, stopped once again, and so on every time they found themselves in front of game booths, souvenir boutiques, or even food stands. The food this year wasn¡¯t particularly special, but it had its distinctiveness. The souvenirs and prizes however were uncommon. Very very uncommon in fact. Tiffany kept gazing at the souvenirs pinned to the cork boards, and Dylan noticed that. ¡°You should¡¯ve brought money¡­¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, we can always buy something tomorrow.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the same¡­¡± It wasn¡¯t the same, since Tiffany always bought a souvenir on the first day of the festival. It became a tradition for her, and for some reason Dylan followed it. He now looked bummed. Maybe there was a way to cheer the friends up, but what could that be? ¡°Your mom still doesn¡¯t lend you money?¡± he asked. ¡°Not until November.¡± ¡°Sad.¡± A wicked thought struck Dylan in the head. He didn¡¯t condone his own idea, but he couldn¡¯t bear looking at Tiffany¡¯s baby-doll eyes any longer. He turned his head, flirted his hair to the side, and smiled at her. Tiffany looked confused for a second. After that second, she still looked confused. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said, weirded out. ¡°Right ahead of you.¡± Dylan was waiting for the right moment to leave, but no opportunity seemed to come up. Tiffany was aloof. Birds chirped and flew from nest to nest. She contemplated the scenery. The sun was getting closer to the horizon, but not quite enough to be considered a sunset. The sky¡¯s blueness slowly faded into a majestic orange colour.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Hey,¡± whispered Tiffany still fixated at the sky. ¡°Yeah?¡± replied Dylan still fixated on his thoughts. ¡°Isn¡¯t it¡­¡± she said, now fixated at something else. ¡°Isn¡¯t it what?¡± ¡°Did that bird¡¯s nest just fall?¡± ¡°What?¡± he repeated, unable to understand what she said. ¡°Oh my goodness, we gotta do something! What if there¡¯re eggs?¡± That was very likely, since most birds lay their eggs anywhere from late spring until mid-summer. Dylan barely listened to what she was screaming about, but he found it to be the perfect time to leave and seek for help, not that he intended to. He ran across some other kids of his age, dodging any eye contact. He stopped once he made it to the souvenir booth. He placed his hands on the counter, stared the booth-keeper down and blurted out something incomprehensible. ¡°He¡­ Hey. I¡­ huh¡­¡± panted Dylan, realizing he might¡¯ve run too vigorously. ¡°Umm is anything the matter?¡± He took a deep breath and restarted his sentence. ¡°Hello, this might sound weird, but could you help my friend take care of a bird¡¯s nest mishap?¡± ¡°Umm I don¡¯t think I can leave this booth at the moment.¡± The booth-keeper looked young and inexperienced. He wasn¡¯t quite sure of what to do or what to say when asked such a specific task, especially when it¡¯s unrelated to his work space. ¡°Please, birds¡¯ lives are at stake. It¡¯s straight ahead,¡± he gestured, ¡°and the girl is wearing a flashy red hoodie. It¡¯ll be difficult to miss.¡± ¡°Umm all right I¡¯ll take a look, I guess. Wait here.¡± Dylan watched the man leave the booth unattended. He stood there for a minute, looking around. The keeper was no where to be seen. Dylan scratched the side of his temple then sighed. His plan was working. He jumped over the counter effortlessly. He examined what he should take. A sudden chill grazed his forearm. He looked back. Nothing was there, except for stacks of boxes filled with different plush toys. His hand moved on its own, taking one of the items. He was disoriented from his involuntary movement of the hand but thought nothing of it. He glimpsed at the plush. This seems fine. He unzipped his bag and carefully placed the reward. He looked back at what he had just accomplished. ¡°Well, that was easy.¡± Dylan rushed back to Tiffany. The booth keeper put the nest back on top of a tree branch. Tiffany thanked the man, then went to confront Dylan. ¡°Was that really necessary?¡± ¡°Was what necessary?¡± Dylan knew exactly what she was referring to. ¡°Ugh, never mind.¡± ¡°¡­¡± Dylan looked at her in silence, hesitant. He hoisted his head slightly to the right. Dylan started walking again as Tiffany wandered away. The sky became dark; it seemed that the incident took longer than expected. The sun left the sky and gave its place to the moon. The amber rays turned into dull silver knives, cutting the park into bits of light and darkness. Oddly, this metamorphosis did not dull the surroundings, but contributed to its beauty. Dylan tucked his shirt. His pants tightened as he squatted down, lifting his bag over his head. Tiffany also sat down on the grass beside him. ¡°Why is the moon so pretty today?¡± she smiled. ¡°Hmm, dunno.¡± After his response, a brief silence filled the air. Everything was peaceful, but it was quickly disturbed when Dylan spoke. ¡°Oh right, here¡¯s a gift.¡± He handed over his bag, with the stolen stuffed animal. ¡°Oh? It¡¯s a¡­ green bird? Where¡¯d you get this?¡± ¡°Uhh.¡± He thought very hard to cover up for his lie. ¡°The booth-keeper gave it to me, as¡­ uhh appreciation, for the¡­ helping the native bird population, or something.¡± ¡°Uh huh,¡± she nodded, ¡°aw, well thanks!¡± She widened her arms and went in for a nice warm hug. The hug looked more like a halfway hug though, due to the awkward side by side sitting position they found themselves in, as well as the voluminous bag that was sitting on Tiffany¡¯s lap. She loosened her arms as she rustled the bag around, closing, zipping and mostly unnecessarily tapping the pockets, to give it back to its rightful owner. Tiffany lay her back on the ground, straightening her crossed legs in a way that it looked like she was at the beach. The plushie rested on her chest, faced down. The other friend rested his upper back on a tree trunk. He sighed once again, this time out of satisfaction. He looked up at the starry sky, contemplating awhile. ¡°Hey,¡± he whispered. No response. Dylan directed his gaze elsewhere. Tiffany was fast asleep. He took a deep breath as the darkness became even darker: his eyes slowly shut. Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Dylan opened his eyes. To his surprise, the sky was still pitch black. Sleep was the only thing resonating in his mind and he didn¡¯t want that to change. He closed his eyes. Something felt strange. Sleep was no longer the only thing on his mind: a noise resonated as well. Tick... Tock¡­ Tick... Tock¡­ Tick. This noise slowly invaded his ability to rest. Dylan couldn¡¯t take it anymore. His eyelids rose. He asked himself many questions, marginal yet existential questions. Where did the noise come from? Why couldn¡¯t he hear it anymore? Was the ticking a figment of his imagination? And last but not least, why in the world was the sky still so black? Unfortunately, he still couldn¡¯t see anything. Despite him being in utter denial, he soon realized that his world was no longer what it seemed to be. It wasn¡¯t full of stars. It wasn¡¯t full of plants. It wasn¡¯t full of birds. It wasn¡¯t full of living things. In fact, it wasn¡¯t full of things at all. It wasn¡¯t beautiful. It wasn¡¯t peaceful. It wasn¡¯t noisy. It wasn¡¯t chaotic; even so, it was. It was what it was. What was it? Certainly something that was. What is this, he thought. he stepped forward. No sound. No ground. Whatever he was stepping on was as black as the nonexistent black sky. He had trouble walking, not because his legs were numb, but because there was no ground to see. Was this what it felt like to be blind? Dylan questioned himself once more. He wasn¡¯t sure if the place was extremely dark or if it was completely devoid of anything. ¡°Hello?¡± No echo either. Sweat trickled down his temple. Lifting his forearm to wipe it off, the cold liquids spread out evenly. He flicked it off to the floor. Dylan hadn¡¯t realized it yet, but this was a critical turning point. It truly resembled one of those times where a very famous physician finally figured out how buoyancy worked, following his discovery with an interjection that became way too popular for its own good. He was scared of moving, scared of getting lost inside this void. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe if he closed his eyes, it would all go back to normal. He shut his eyes. No panic. Could this situation possibly be evaded? Short answer, no. Dylan hated this environment. He was gazing at nothing, yet he was gazing at something too. Dylan scratched his chin deep in thought. Why was he still here? A dream couldn¡¯t possibly be this well though out, or so he thought. Losing his balance, he tripped over nothing, and quickly bent an elbow to break his fall. Fallen, he tilted his head up to the surprise of seeing a well spread out puddle in front of him. Finally realizing it, he lifted himself slightly, knees to the ground, and examined the puddle of sweat with amazement. Dylan figured out two things. One: liquids flatten drastically when it comes in contact with the invisible surface. A few droplets were squashed into a spacious puddle, forming a transparent mirror. Ripples undulated gently as he traced his finger through the screen of water; it felt as thin as it appeared transparent. He looked at his finger intensely. The more he moved the tip of his finger around, the more he noticed another oddity. Two: light does not seem to exist in this world, yet every single thing, meaning clothing, skin, sweat, basically anything excluding the blackness, could be seen as if a constant non-altering light was present.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Huh.¡± Dylan sprung back to his feet. It was fascinating¡­ fascinating yet oh so scary. At least now his eyes were of some use; he was no longer blind. He stepped back. Feeling adventurous, he began walking backwards while eyeing the puddle. A visual support was always nice to have. He heard nothing, yet it felt so loud. He imagined the calm sounds of the ripple flow, even if it made none. The pool of sweat shrunk each time he backed up. Little by little, he wasn¡¯t so sure where he was anymore. Something rustled. A jolt ran through his legs and he reflexively turned, readying a defensive stance. He huddled his arms closer to his face. Peering through the little chamber he had made with his arms, a familiar bag could be seen. It was but his own. He lowered his arms, picking it straight up. He was overjoyed to finally see something that could actually be seen, or touched even. He sighed for a long second. He opened the bag and checked the insides; everything was there. He took out his flashlight and turned it on. Nothing. The head of the torch was bright, but it looked like the light wasn¡¯t coming out. He put it back inside a pocket. His eyes dropped after finding something else on the ground. A green body sat there. He pinched the green thing and lifted it to his face. It was the bird plush he had stolen. He wondered. Something seemed extremely fishy there, not that it was a fish. Dylan thought nothing of it: he had seen crazier things hitherto. The puddle disappeared from sight. Getting overexcited was quite stupid and Dylan knew that. He held the bird tightly in his hands, stressed. He should make a path. He checked if he had a water bottle, but alas, it didn¡¯t look like he did. His tongue was dry. A moment of discomfort. No one was watching, but, even now, Dylan hesitated awkwardly. Should he spit on the ground of an utterly unbeknownst and potentially detrimental environment or should he follow his extra-essential morality? The green bird¡¯s eyes were perfectly empty yet full of judgment. Dylan looked away. Watery patches bloomed from each gentle expectoration. His mouth gave out. Spitting was exhausting. He didn¡¯t roam too far from where he started. It was quite disappointing actually. Dylan turned around. ¡°Hello?¡± He swore he heard a voice. He hesitated to say it again. ¡°He-hello?¡± Nothing. The water swayed. Dylan tensed. Something was up. Something was not right. Dylan sensed something. ¡°Hello!¡± he repeated, half-afraid. A heavy aura crushed the ambiance. Dylan left the scene. Each step he took sunk into the blackness. It became difficult to move, but nothing seemed to be holding him back. Why was it so hard? Was he frozen from fear? The soundless sounds increased. What am I doing? he thought. His bag shook up and down and the plush was strangled with exceeding force. Dylan was running. Everything morphed as his speed grew. The darkness expanded but shrunk, darkened but lightened, and the noises amalgamated and degraded for the worst. Dylan twisted his foot as he fell through an unbelievably shallow yet deep pit. He attempted to grip a surface; he scratched an unnaturally cold one. His fingers released and the bird went flying in the air. He heard a soft rip. His bag continuously bumped into the rough surface, his pants badly scraped off, and his skin was scuffed. He thudded to the floor. He didn¡¯t want to move. A fleecy body dropped, landing on his forehead. Everywhere hurt. He couldn¡¯t see anything; it was truly dark. Normal darkness dark. It was cold. He stayed put for a while. He difficultly opened his eyes. His head was leaning on a tree. His bag was on his lap. The feathered bird was prostrate on Tiffany¡¯s chest. His fingers touched the grass beneath. His head hurt. Dylan¡¯s body still throbbed immensely. Chapter 3 Chapter 3 A cricket¡¯s chirping eased in. Dylan was sitting catatonically. The grass whistled as gentle breezes passed by and the tree leaves rustled. Dylan clenched the bottom of his shirt in hopes of easing the pain. He looked at his arms. There were red burns and bruises, severe enough to notice but insignificant enough to overlook. He shook his left arm gently and laid it back on the grass. Tiffany was still fast asleep. The sun had some time left before coming out for the morning. Dylan watched the sky emptily. He was still very perplexed. Was it a dream or was it not? He kept getting mixed signals. His body and mind said that it wasn¡¯t, but everything else said the contrary. His head started to hurt. Why was this happening? Dylan started to get a migraine. He sought answers. Dylan could no longer think, because of his migraine. He gave up thinking and rested his head on the bark. The chirping continued. Tiffany turned her body to the side. Her arm flopped over, squeezing the poor plushie in between her elbow and the ground. Dylan glanced at the unexpected noise. The bird¡¯s empty death stare seemed to be filled with agony, as if it was calling out for Dylan. ¡°Help me!¡± imitated Dylan in a squeaky yet low pitched voice. Dylan laughed at his own imitation. Okay no that¡¯s weird. Tiffany moaned and moved her body haphazardly. She snored heavily, rolled around for a bit, then opened her eyes. She sat up and stretched her arms. The plush bounced to her lap. She yawned uncontrollably and tried hiding her mouth with one of her hands. She didn¡¯t cover much, though that was to be expected from someone who had just woken up from a good night¡¯s sleep, unlike her fellow friend who still had a migraine. ¡°Morning,¡± said Dylan. She didn¡¯t reply. He took the silence as a ¡°don¡¯t talk to me I just woke up and I¡¯m dying¡±. ¡°Mooorn-en.¡± She prepared to yawn again. Before getting up, she rubbed her eyes and scratched the side of her neck. ¡°What happened to you?¡± asked Tiffany. She tied her hair up in an ungraceful fashion. ¡°You look like you got hit by a truck in your sleep or something.¡± ¡°Likewise¡­ honestly, I think I did get hit by a truck. I don¡¯t even know what happened.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± She wasn¡¯t quite sure what Dylan meant. A closer examination was needed. Tiffany¡¯s worried eyes grew tenfold. ¡°What the hell happened to your arms?¡± she shouted. The nesting birds flew away. An early-morning jogger looked their way, but quickly averted his eyes. Dylan glanced back. ¡°I would like to believe myself,¡± he sighed, ¡°but I¡­ I can¡¯t even understand what happened.¡± ¡°Did you fight a cat or something?¡± ¡°What? no?¡± ¡°Then what?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! I had this weird dream that might not be a dream but I still have these injuries, so it most likely wasn¡¯t a dream!¡± He presented both arms, injuries facing up, emphasizing his speech. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Okay, so long story short, I was in some kind of black void, I found some stuff, I got scared, and then I slipped and fell into a hole where I got hurt badly. When I woke up I suddenly found myself sitting by this tree, with these injuries!¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Slight pause. ¡°¡­ are you sure you didn¡¯t just¡­ perhaps¡­ fight a cat?¡± Dylan stopped, then turned away passive-aggressively. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m leaving,¡± he uttered. ¡°Wait, wait! Okay, sorry! I believe you!¡± ¡°Uh. Fine¡­ but we really should leave. We haven¡¯t brushed our teeth since yesterday.¡± ¡°Right right, but I think that¡¯s the least of your worries.¡± She glanced at his arms and at his slightly ripped pants. ¡°Tell me more about what happened though.¡± Dylan rummaged through the grass for his things while Tiffany crouched to get a hold of the stuffed animal. The sun had barely come up yet. ¡°So?¡± inquired Tiffany. She playfully jumped onto the sidewalk¡¯s lines to deviate from the heavy atmosphere, not that the atmosphere was heavy. ¡°Well there isn¡¯t much. After I fell asleep, I was in a place that resembled¡­ uh¡­ imagine this. You¡¯re in your room at night and no lights are on. What do you see?¡± ¡°Nothing?¡± ¡°Exactly. Now imagine you being stuck there, but you couldn¡¯t hear or touch anything either.¡± ¡°Uh huh¡­¡± ¡°Then you somehow find your bag and that green bird.¡± He pointed at the bird. ¡°Uh¡­ huh?¡± Tiffany stopped listening a sentence ago. ¡°Anyways,¡± he turned, ¡°this is where I leave, so I¡¯ll talk about the rest tomorrow.¡± ¡°You can come to my house if you want. We should look at your wounds.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll pass. They¡¯ve healed enough. I can deal with the rest myself. I have more important things to do.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± Dylan saw where this was going and he didn¡¯t like it. ¡°Like not going to your house?¡± Tiffany stood dumb. ¡°Then can I go to yours?¡± She was very nonchalant about it. ¡°¡­¡± Dylan wanted to brush his teeth in peace even if it was the least of his worries. ¡°No?¡± ¡°All righty then, I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡± She left. Dylan waved. He felt some sort of regret despite the fact that he was the one to have said no. Dylan also left. The day was starting awkwardly. Tiffany, like the positive girl she was, still looked forward to it. The sun shone brightly, the air warmed up and the neighbour¡¯s dog barked. Tiffany leapt to the side: the dog was more than enough to get a reaction out of her. It was a nice way to eliminate her worries for Dylan. She squatted down to its level. ¡°Hi doggy! Who¡¯s a good boy!¡± She gave it many head pats. The dog wriggled under the comfort. Pulling off a complete one-eighty, the dog started whining as if it was afraid of her, which wasn¡¯t the case a couple of head pats ago. She lifted her hand in concern. Tiffany tucked the bird¡¯s large head between her arm and stomach to make sure she doesn¡¯t drop it. The dog went back to normal, approaching Tiffany to get patted some more. ¡°Welp, I gotta go. See ya!¡± She sprung up and went on her merry way. Unbeknownst to Tiffany, the dog suddenly wriggled and flailed to the ground as if it was drowning. It yelped as its movements became stiffer and stiffer until it dropped. No movement. No barking. The only thing left was the fear that lingered in its now empty pupils. Tiffany tightened her lips. Her teeth clenched in an unexpected way. Was something wrong? She thought nothing of it. Rather she really needed to go brush her teeth. Tiffany dragged her finger across the wall as she walked away. It was around six feet tall, greyish colour with vivid chlorophyll-imbued vines creeping on its vertical surface; its shadows made the wall look less empty. When she had turned and crossed the street, the vines gradually shrivelled in all directions and withered with its black yet consistently green colouration. A subtle cramp loomed in the darkness of Tiffany¡¯s stomach. Instinctively, Tiffany put her hand on the thick cloth of her hoodie and sighed an uncomfortable sigh. The sting was definitely uncomfortable but it subsided quickly. Maybe she needed to go to the bathroom, or maybe not. Once again, her stomach contracted. Once again, she held her stomach. However this time she didn¡¯t sigh. She didn¡¯t sigh at all. The staggering pain kept her silent. Did she eat something bad at the festival? Could it be food poisoning? No, it couldn¡¯t have been. The food was checked fastidiously by the local health department, or so the stickers placed on the front of the stands said. Her period? She thought it had already passed. It couldn¡¯t possibly be that either. Her cheekbones bumped up the skin on each side of her face forming a smile-like grin as she gritted her teeth together. The pain was not one she had ever felt or thought of ever feeling before. A sudden pulse struck through her mind and evergrowing circular¡ªnot that you can see their shape¡ªwaves of agony petrified her, vein by vein, inside and out. Her feet were static. Images of nothingness flashed in quick succession, failing her eyesight. The images were flashing, flashing not as in rapid outbursts of light but as in the interval between the ability to see the light of the day and the contrasting darkness of the nothingness of those appearing images. She was shaking. Her eyes were wide open yet they weren¡¯t working. The pain overpowered her thoughts. Thud. The refreshing sound of two knees falling to the stone cold concrete. Any thought crippled her even further. She plummeted shoulder first and smacked the side of her head as well. In a last attempt to call for help, her hand reached out crawling on the ground and she managed to utter a one-syllable cry, so weak it didn¡¯t even make a noticeable difference. Her face was supported; her facial expression was expressionless. Her body collapsed largely on the sidewalk, but some parts found themselves sitting on the road. The radiant sun continued to shine over the neighbourhood. Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Dylan turned his key and opened the door. He tapped his shoe on the carpet as he slipped out his feet from his sneakers, right foot first, left foot second. The wooden floor creaked when he made his way to the dining room table, dropping off his bag, then marched to the bathroom. The creaking had persisted for some time, since the bathroom was the farthest room from the entrance¡ªor maybe it was the bedroom, since that room was on the other side of the hallway directly in front of the bathroom situated at equal distance from the front door: it becomes difficult to tell which room was actually farther. The shameful architects who designed this house were probably drunk when designing this house. In fact, they were very drunk. The kitchen was the first place one steps into after entering and that would be completely fine if it wasn¡¯t for the large rectangular dining table that blocked more than half of the space. To the detriment of the people living in the house, the architects designed the table to be fastened to the floor, so there was no question about moving or removing it without spending an excessive amount of effort, time and money¡ªthough a certain idiom might say that the two last ones are the same thing. Now why did Dylan¡¯s parents buy this house? The first reason would be because it was cheap and had everything needed for a sustainable life. The second reason, in order for Dylan to ever meet Tiffany and continue this story, would be the unfortunate events buying this specific house would lead up to¡ªhowever saying that might defy some fourth wall breaking ground rules if any. Once one progressed passed the large table, they¡¯d now be setting foot into the living-room. The living-room, to the amazement of everyone excluding the architects, was fine. Next to the left far corner of the living-room was a small desk that Dylan¡ªnor anyone¡ªhad ever used hitherto except maybe a potted plant or a lonely half sharpened pencil. Next to the opposite end of the first left corner was a right corner. Surprisingly enough, this corner greatly differed from the other because it wasn¡¯t a corner at all. As matter of fact, it was actually a small door sized hallway that led elsewhere, but most importantly the bathroom. Dylan turned on the faucet, letting the cold water trickle down his left arm. ¡°Ow¡­¡± The dried-up scabs loosened up. Dylan pressed the wounds and rubbed them with his finger to clean the excess blood off. Once that was done, he did the same thing to the other arm with a little more difficulty: his left hand lacked dexterity. He closed the faucet and wiped off water from the counter. He searched through the bathroom cabinet for a particular bottle, one that wasn¡¯t expired nor potentially filled with chemicals he could not pronounce. The date on the one he held hasn¡¯t passed yet. Hydrogen peroxide. He said it with ease. A nod of satisfaction, he twisted the bottle open then poured some of the liquid on a clean towel. The towel was now drenched with disinfectant poison. He set the bottle down and set the towel on his arm despite his unwillingness to do so. After the disinfection, Dylan wrapped his arms with bandages. Finally, it was done. Dylan gently sat down on the toilet seat. It was cold¡ªas all seats should be. Awkward pause. Awkward silence. Water sloshed as a loud flush echoed within the room. Dylan washed his hands thoroughly. His eyes were fixated at a blue shaded semitransparent cup. The cup didn¡¯t reciprocate his gaze, but merely stayed as is. Inside was nothing else but a toothbrush. What he did afterwards was totally expected. He filled the cup with cold water, squeezed some paste out of an aluminium tube and brushed his teeth. The mirror reflected a somewhat unpleasant visage, showing its seemingly perfect set of teeth with foam coming out of both sides of its lips. Dylan hesitated to spit. Dylan thought about spitting. Dylan spat.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Once again, water splashed down cleaning everything up. He set everything aside and left; the bathroom door shut. Through the white clouds seeped glimmers of light, filling the earth with new hope and energy. The sun was alive and kicking: the breezes lifted the flowers up, enlivened the grass and warmed the rooftops. Perhaps it even snugged a blanket of light over a haphazardly collapsed body on the streets. Who knows? Not Dylan of course, since he was still inside the house doing whatever he was doing. Empty cereal boxes flung all over the kitchen while Dylan threw them around. He shook each box in attempt to find one that wasn¡¯t empty. He was unsuccessful. The hollow reverberance he heard one after the other had become quite annoying. Finding breakfast was difficult. He never knew finding breakfast could be oh so difficult. Looking at the number of empty boxes that lay on the floor compared to the number of nonempty boxes gave a pitiful ratio of zero. Nothing close to breakfast was in the fridge either. Maybe he should start buying groceries. He had thought about starting to do the groceries by himself but never had the right mindset to actually do it. His parents were very unreliable when it came to these kind of things, but, alas, there was always enough food to keep Dylan from succumbing to his greater fate of being dead. What can I eat, he thought, I mean I can go eat at Tiffany¡¯s, but then again¡­ it¡¯s gonna be awkward. Oh well. He made up his mind. He was going to eat at Tiffany¡¯s house even if he rejected her previous offer. After getting out of his trance, he uncrossed his legs and lifted himself up. Unfortunately, one step was all it took for him to find himself back onto the squeaky planks. He stepped on an innocent cardboard box with the drawing of a friendly tiger, crumpling its smile into an unforgiving jagged mouth that emanated an aura of vengeance and anger. With that said, Dylan somehow slipped. In a bid to keep his balance, he swung his arm to the side hitting the edge of the table. Instead, it worsened the situation by making him plummet to the ground with his back bones facing exactly where they shouldn¡¯t have been facing, and that¡¯s without mentioning his wounded arms as well as his newly wounded palm. He lay in utter defeat, utterly given up on life. What is happening to my life¡­ He rolled to the side, groaned, got back up, and rubbed his forehead a little. His view inclined: he cracked his neck with a quick circular motion of the head. Ugh. Time to go. Plodding across the hall once more, he eyed the right wall in all its inexistent virtue because he lacked things to look at. Dylan slipped into his bedroom and put his hand aimlessly onto the wall, trying to feel the protruding light switch. The thick blinds hid the place from the bright outside world. The little light that managed to seep through gave a faint orange glow¡ªa sad one at best. Needless to say, he rarely opened the blinds. The blinds hadn¡¯t been open for so long, it wouldn¡¯t be surprising if dust bunnies started to hop all over the greyish layer of the window frame, like children playing in snow. The artificial luminescence overpowered the orange glows, leaving the clothy curtains opaque and colourless. Onto the wardrobe. It was slick, made of mahogany-like wood, but cheapishly grainy. He slid the door open and hovered his hand over the plethora of textile, hesitant of what to wear. Anything that can hide the bandages, he thought. His fingers had been hanging for a while now, still indecisive. How about this? He unhooked a small jacket¡ªit looked more like a suit than anything but whatever. He tried it on. It was weirdly too big and too small, at the same time; the sleeve vents were too tight and the armscyes were lacerating his armpits, yet the sleeves were baggy enough to fit an arm three times the size of his own. He looked like a mere child wearing a grownup¡¯s attire. He looked at the mirror. Nope. He shoved the thing back without even attempting to put it in the same way he took it out. He lifted another one out, this one had a rather simplistic style: it was mostly black, some white for the small details of the printed brand. Have I worn this before? When did I buy this? Regardless of the answer, he slipped into his new attire. He faced the mirror once more. For some reason it reminded him of how Tiffany dressed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how bad and weird¡ªsomehow in a good way¡ªher fashion sense was, not that his was any better. Dylan raised an eyebrow, visible confusion in his eyes as he had no idea why he was thinking of that. He grabbed a new pair of pants too to match his upper body. His stomach growled. Yes, I get it. I should go. Dylan hurried through the house. The stiffness of his movements didn¡¯t seem to affect his speed whatsoever. He must¡¯ve been very hungry. He grabbed his bag and put his shoes on. Before putting on his second shoe, he remembered something. He dropped the shoe and turned back. He hopped across the kitchen floor, using the table for support, and grasped his wallet from the counter. This time he really left. He locked the door with the twist of a key and started walking to his long-awaited destination.