Dweller of the Cave

One

I had another stupid dream. A man in armor walked into my house with an ornate axe. Before he could kill me, I jumped through my old bedroom wall and ran down the street to a house that doesn't exist. I called 911 (or tried to) on an old sticky slide phone. To be brief, I died and now I know what death by axe feels like.

I woke up, then again for real... Then again for real.

My neck ached from not having a pillow yet. I was sleeping on a mattress in the middle of my new bedroom. Not even a blanket because I threw it away beforehand. Both of my windows had brand new black curtains. The sunset shown through one of them and filled the room with honey light.

For I second, I forgot we moved. Until he ran in.

"Blaine!" Andy cheered. "Can you help me with my boxes?"

Why didn't I sleep a little longer? I sat up and rubbed my neck. He asked again, and I had to acknowledge for the 467,888th time that we were related. We had the same vanilla skin, annoyingly long hair, and hazel eyes, but he was a squealy nine-year-old.

I understand I'm not a nine-year-old, but I didn't get how he could be fully dressed at five at night and jump around.

"You have arms and legs," I said. "Unpack your own stuff."

"I have more stuff than you, and a bigger room!"

"Maybe if you grew up and threw your toys away, I wouldn't hesitate to help. Now get out."

He fake frowned and sprinted out the door. Christ. I got up and stretched.

Boxes lined the walls, most of them still taped shut. I didn't feel like opening them. One of them in particular stared back at me with Throw Away written on it in marker.

It felt weird walking downstairs to get to the living room. We never had stairs, mostly because we always lived in apartments. This place was huge, at least to me. I gripped onto the wooden railing and supported myself with the wall as I ambled down. A draft of summer heat blew in from the cracked front door, mugging up the living room. Though everything was pretty unorganized, at least it was unpacked.

The hickory floor and mahogany wood patterned walls felt so cozy. The couches sat across from each other with a small ottoman between, while the plants, PC, TV, and bookshelf were in disarray.

Mom spun around in a black leather computer chair under the golden ceiling light, waving her face with a clothing catalog. Her curly, hickory hair hung over the back of the seat. She wore a white T-shirt tucked into khaki cargo shorts. I always wondered why Mom, Andy, and my Dad had brown hair, and I had to settle with hair the color of cranberries.

She probably noticed me staring into nothingness. "Blaine, honey, are you all unpacked?" Her voice was low and melodious.

"Nope, I fell asleep." I started up the stairs backwards before she could mention Andy. "Did they find your dresser?"

"They claimed they lost it on the trip. I'm gonna order a pizza later. Ask Andy what he wants."

I gave her a thumbs up and made it back up the stairs. Actually, no. Andy dashed down, hauling a small open bookbag. It sounded like he was hoarding jewelry and rocks in there.

"Hey Mom, is the TV set up?" He knelt on the floor and dumped all his stupid movies on the floor.

"Sure is, just don't-"

"Can I watch The Exorcist?"

"An-"

"And I want cheese pizza! Chucky loves cheese pizza! And sauce that looks like blooooood!"