A bird that refuses to leave its cage

chapter one)

***

You wake up from your reacuring nightmare, heaving half your body upwards. Seemingly Yeeting yourself from your bed.

'oof'

Head shot, 50 points

Your feet stay ontop of your comforting bed, judging you.
Humiliating you for your actions.........

Why do you always have a suspicion that your tinie tiny feet are always out to get you.
Tripping over air, stubbing your poor innocent toe, stepping on dog-

"Ugh, my head"

You groan cutting off your constant narrative mind.
Shifting your now numb body from the cold wooden floor, you stand up.

You keep having the same nightmare almost every night, but you always forget it, the closest you got to remember it is blue luminescent chains wrapping around you, and when they would snap, you purposely fix them, changing a select few to turn a bright red colour.

In professional terms it could mean something, but you're not bothered by it.
It happens so often that it has become normal for you.

You step away from your bed, shifting your body to the rooms exit.
You glance around one last time around the room, seeing a small lump on a bed opposite to yours.
The lump moves up and down in a steady motion.

Ah you didn't wake up your brother, success.

You smile to yourself leaving the bedroom you and your brother share.
Swiftly patting your feet on the floor to your kitchen.

Your mother worked hard to buy this house, it was meant to be just for you, your mother, and father.

You were adopted by the age of five, and to be honest, you never had a problem with being and orphan, you don't necessarily need to know who your real parents were, if they really cared about you, they would atleast keep in touch.

But when you almost turned ten, your mother had Kris, your brother.

Your brother was possibly not planed, since your adoptive father left over a year before your mother got pregnant.

But you'll never say that to Kris.

Silently you entered the kitchen.
Ah the kitchen, your second room, if only it were legal to marry the tasteful vanilla extract milk.

But harsh reality doesn't want others to be with their true love.

Well......... You'd be up for murder if you could marry drinks and food.

A cerial killer to be exact.

"Pfft"

You spit a small portion of your beloved milk to the wall, man you have a strange sense of humour.

Glancing to the top of the kitchen doorway, the clock shows an unearthly time.........

2:12am

Huh, new record.

Drinking the rest of the contents of your beloved milk, you walk up the stairs, entering the same bed you origanlly sumersalted out of.