Danger Kid

Chapter 7

Amber leans in, and I think she wants to kiss me. Gazing into her uncharacteristically welcoming eyes, my suspicions are confirmed. They have "the look."

Her hair, which is unruly and disheveled in the way that a fashion model can make look beautiful, adds an extreme amount of tension to the atmosphere. Put lightly, Amber is currently exuding the drop dead gorgeous variety of beauty. But my brain starts to catch on to its own game as I realize it is all coming off in an overtly sensual way, a way that is contradictory to her personality. It's the kind of lustful, passionate beauty that only a young pre-pubescent boy would ever imagine and mistake for reality. This should be a sign to me, but for a moment I shove my common sense into my subconscious, and I choose to believe that Amber is actually coming in for the kiss. This is exhilarating, but also frustrating. First, exhilarating, because, well duh. However, it's frustrating because I would have liked to be the one to initiate the kiss. That's me conforming to societal standards, or whatever.

But beggars can't be choosers. I close my eyes, because that's supposedly what you are supposed to do.

Suddenly, she's beeping. She has pulled away, and is emitting a loud shrill blast from her mouth that is also uncharacteristic of her. I realize, even before I wake up, what is happening. The blaring screech is so familiar that it destroys what little believability remained in my dream. I refuse to open my eyes, but even so realize the sound is my alarm clock. How dare my subconscious associate her with such a hateful device! My dream-self yells in indignation, clawing at the air in fury, trying to latch on to the meta-physical reality that surrounds it, denying the concept that this is just an illusion. My attempts are to no avail.

With a metallic crinkle sound, the beeping stops. It's alright; the world won't miss the clock. Our planet is already far too saturated with silly electronic devices. I wipe what used to be a clock from my fist.

Opening my eyes and sitting up I realize how stupid my dream was. Amber broke up with me just a couple weeks ago. This thought makes me want to go back to sleep, but it's too late. I'm awake now, physically as well as mentally, if not in spirit. I roll out of bed, literally, flopping onto the floor with a lazy thud. I moan, zombie like, hungry for sustenance. (Also, I might need a cold shower.) I pull myself to my feet, continuing my moan as I walk towards my bedroom door. I open it, crossing to the room on the opposite end of the hall, Brayan's room. I knock, firmly.

"Brayan..." I say it in a mutter. No response. So I punch the hard wood of the door, which results in a ferocious, ear splitting bang. I hear a thud, much like the one I made when I got out of bed. An expletive sounds, so I guess he's up.

Just so my imaginary audience knows, I'm not being malicious. Pulling someone out of dreamland may seem cruel, and sleep is something I hold sacred. Generally it is something you should never interrupt. However, he asked me to wake him up early. It's a new habit he's trying to form.

I trot towards the kitchen, and reach blindly, my hand searching the top of the refrigerator. Eventually, after a few moments, I find my box of chocolate rice flakes. Chocolate rice flakes isn't their actual name, just a description. They are an off brand, so I don't know their actual corporate title. As I pull down the box, a rather unpleasant sense of apprehension dawns upon me. Something is terribly wrong. I shake the box. The weight is off. It should be several ounces heavier. I pull back the top flaps, and look down to see only a sad dusty pile of remains in the bottom of the box.

I collapse to my knees. No. NO! The mix of hunger and exhaustion that I am experiencing makes this a very traumatic experience for me. Raising my hands and the box in the air, I shout, "Damn you Brayan! Damn you to hell!"

Out comes Brayan. He handles his mornings better than I do, seeming to be awake and mostly sane already. For me it will take a few more moments.

"Whoa, dude. Keep it G rated." He says groggily.