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7:02AM
ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏsᴛᴇʀs'
...
I WOKE from yet another nightmare of a large man in an adult diaper chasing me down the streets of Brooklyn. No biggie.
It had become almost customary for me to have these dreams roughly every fortnite. The reason? I did not know. Perhaps I was cursed by an evil witch when I was born. I mean, I'll admit, I was a nasty looking baby. Even I'd curse me!
The mysterious part, however, was not that the man was in a silly diaper, no no. No. It was the fact that every single time before I woke up panting, he would scream something incoherent at me and then drop to the floor. Now any normal person would find that extremely disturbing, but I actually found it intriguing, and wanted to see what became of the man. Unfortunately, the dream never lasted that long.
Slapping the alarm shut, I groaned and climbed out of bed. First my right foot, then my left. That was how it was meant to be done, and anyone who did it any other way was, um, a beetlehead!
I hurriedly got dressed, throwing on the same T-Shirt I wore the day before, a printed black that said 'MY PEN IS BIGGER THAN YOURS', and shook my head like a wet dog to get the picture of the Diaper Man out of it.
I descended the stairs, my nose rising to the pleasant scent of waffles. A smile immediately lit up my face, and I quickened my pace, eager to get digging on what were possibly—no, definitely (food critics agree!)—the best waffles in the city.
My dad was a michelin chef, and ran a very popular restaurant in Manhattan. I'd grown up eating, devouring and munching on his tender delicacies. Although lately, he'd become so engrossed at work, that he would hardly ever have time to hang out with us, let alone cook. So, I was particularly happy to smell his well-known waffles with homemade maple syrup.
"Morning Genie." He grinned upon my entrance, placing a fluffy, well-cooked waffle onto a large tray, and then the grin widening when he read what was on my tee.
"Hey dad, no work today?" I threw him a smile, and grabbed the tray, carefully setting it on the dining table, where my two younger siblings were munching on Fruit Loops, as they busily chatted about some kid named Anthony.
"There's always work." He chuckled. "Just thought I'd surprise you with a nice breakfast."
"That was sweet of you." I nodded my appreciation and sat down to eat.
However, as soon as I did, the doorbell rang, making me jump in surprise. "Since when do we have a doorbell?"
Dad rolled his eyes, and motioned for me to get it. Unwilling as I was, I hopped out of my seat and scurried for the door. I'm a good boy, okay?
I let out a groan as I realised there was no one. The Mills kids must be playing pranks again, I thought to myself, reaching for the doorknob. Then, something caught my eye. It was a basket. A basket? Why was a basket laying on our doorstep? I scanned each side of the street, but there was only Mrs. Dabney, the elderly, widowed woman who lived next door to us. I offered her a gentle smile, to which she scowled and looked away, pretending she had not seen me. Well then!
Bending down, I scanned the basket more closely. A red, gingham cloth covered whatever was inside it and suddenly, I was very curious. I lifted the cloth to see a small puppy with wide, bulging eyes staring back at me.
