It all started at a pizza parlor.
Now you may be asking yourself, "Why a pizza parlor?" Maybe you might even be asking, "What exactly is starting?"
Well, I'll tell you.
A young man named Milford Watson, not too big nor short for their 13-year-old age, was waiting for his pizza pie to be served. He had thick glasses, the darkest blonde hair you can imagine, and a t-shirt that represented the logo for a band he enjoyed. It wasn't the style that his friends had hoped for on his first day of seventh grade, but it was still wearable.
He was slowly twiddling his fork whilst sipping on his Pepsi as time slowly passed by.
Milford checked his watch every time he dozed into a daydream, two minutes passing each time. He wasn't sure about what he was thinking about. His thoughts were all cryptic and blurry. It felt unusual to him.
His parents didn't know he was gone at this hour. They would surely ground him if they found out, but it didn't matter to Milford. His mind was too caught up on the end of the school year and all of the supposed pain and suffering he would have to go through for the next three weeks.
He barely spoke for fifteen minutes. He couldn't think of anything to do.
Then, out of the blue it seemed, his waitress carried out his pizza pie. "Here you go, sir," she said like any other tired worker at a nighttime job forced to memorize things like that like clockwork. Milford mumbled, "Thank you," as she returned to the kitchen.
He ate slowly.
The same thoughts from earlier returned to him.
He couldn't concentrate on what he was doing. He felt confused as of why this was happening to his mind. They weren't exactly thoughts, they were more blurred motions, and he couldn't take them all at once. He had to literally put his hands up to his forehead in order for them to stop. He quickly shouted for a glass of ice water. The waitress ran out of the kitchen with a concerned look on her face, then quickly returned to fetch Milford's request of water.
He panted heavily. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He thought. The waitress quickly returned with an ice cold glass of water.
"Are you sure you're alright, si-"
"I'm fine. I'm fine..." Milford interrupted.
The waitress put the glass on the table and rushed off.
Milford breathed heavily some more, then went back to his finally warm enough pizza. He didn't shrug off the previous events per se, but he quickly ate as if nothing happened before.
He tried to recollect what the visions had been in general, but couldn't recall exactly. They looked like blobs from what he could cite.
Like all meals, he was soon too full to fit more food into his stomach. They asked for the bill and the waitress brought it to him without hesitation.
Twenty-five dollars. Not too bad considering he had thirty dollars in his wallet from all of the allowance he had saved up from the past weeks.
He hastily paid the woman and left the building.
All of the things Milford could've possibly thought about that night suddenly came back to him all at once. He wondered if these distracting sights would ever come back to him again in a bad time and place, especially in school. He thought of how he could obtain more answers to his questions if he ever thought about them too hard again or if they even did happen again as he walked out onto the sidewalk. But that sidewalk trip would not last long.
