Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 15

Elliot has a massive headache on Saturday, and only his dog seems to have the ability to make it fade for a little bit.

But even Grover, his large St. Bernard, can't help him forever. The dog sniffs around his bed and leaps up on him, and because Grover is already big and is overweight, Grover is so big that Elliot physically cannot push him off when he's laying down on him. The dog is like an anchor that rests on top of him, keeping him to his dark bedroom.

He doesn't even try much anymore. Once the dog sits up he'll be able to push him, until then, he's stuck.

Elliot takes a deep breath and pets the soft fur of the dog. His mind is elsewhere, but nowhere in particular. His mind is a fog, and each light that appears in his room is like a lighthouse on the ocean, and when the light turns his way it fills up his eyes and blinds him - and the light seems to burrow itself into his brain and make him shiver.

He can hear everything and nothing as he lays in bed, the world outside muted yet every noise it makes sounding amplified in the silence of his room. The most apparent thing he hears, though, is he and his dog's breathing, Grover breathing nine times to Elliot's every one, giving their breathing a strange meter of synchronization.

I need to get up, Elliot says, but makes no effort to try to push the dog. I can't lay here anymore, yet there he stays.

Elliot shifts so that he can sit up and his eyes adjust in the dark, it seems to happen in a snap that he can see though, and he finds his brain feeling like it's pulsing because of the sudden ability to see. Bringing his hands up and running them through his hair, he tries to relax and take a deep breath to calm down the pulsing in his mind. He closes his eyes, hoping to calm down his mind.

When he opens his eyes again, it's 'cause his mother is shaking him.

"Elliot, are you alright?" she asks, her eyes wide. She didn't turn on any lights, knowing better by now, but she brings her hands up to her son's face as if to compensate for the lack of sight.

Elliot looks around for a moment, his heart racing. He had just closed his eyes a moment ago, yet the evidence says it was hours. The sun is gone, and the dark is starting to overpower the light outside, the hues of green, orange, and pink slowly fading to the purple and blues of the night. Grover is gone, and where he was laying is cold.

Elliot stares at his room for a moment, trying to see why it feels so different. His closet is to his right and it's full of dirty clothes thrown in the hamper in a half-assed manner, some draping out of the box. In front of him is his desk, untouched, papers neatly organized and put in files, only two papers out among the rest of them. He's got a glass of water on his nightstand, but the ice is melted now. His dresser has a bunch of open drawers but meticulously organized belongings set up in an organized array on top of it.

His room isn't different, but it feels different.

"How long have I been asleep?" Elliot asks, looking up at his mother. She sits down at the side of the bed and pulls open the drawer on his nightstand, grabbing his pill case.

"You missed some of the times for your pills. No matter, you got some sleep which I think is better."

I had just closed my eyes. I had only closed my eyes, just for a moment - like a blink, and in that blink the whole day is gone.

I never do that. What's going on?

"Elliot, are you alright?"

"How long have I been asleep?"

"It's almost dinner. Elliot, are you alright?"

"I'm fine!"

Elliot's mother gives him a peculiar look, staring at him with wide eyes. She smiles softly and pats his leg before moving over to his bedside table and pulling open the drawer, grabbing his pills for him and putting them in his hand.