1 Congratulations, Ism Sorry, and Good Luck! (1/2)
7:00 AM, September 1st, 2000 CE
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Michael woke up in his basement bedroom with a terrible ringing in his ears and a what felt like a runny nose. Reflexively going to wipe his nose on the back of his hand, his bleary eyes looked down to realize that it was now smeared with blood. ”That's weird, I don't usually get nosebleeds,” he thought to himself. ”Did the humidifier short out overnight again?” Grabbing a tissue from the box on his bedside table, he turned his head to look through bleary eyes at the beige rectangular device against the wall next to the stairs. Seeing the glowing green display still showing the correct values in the dim light, he winced as he blew his nose to clear out his nostrils. After checking to see the flow had already stopped, he took a tentative sniff of the air. He noticed a faint whiff of sulfur mixed with the expected ferric tang of blood. ”Odd. Maybe it's the headache -- my head is KILLING me.” He slowly pulled himself out of bed, grimacing at the pounding in his head, and started to make his way upstairs. He could smell the coffee percolating and vaguely hear the clatter of people moving around getting louder as he ascended to the main floor of the house.
”Morning, bro,” his sister Anne mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. ”Morning,” Michael replied, through a yawn and half closed eyes as he went straight for the medicine cabinet. ”You ok? Did you cut yourself?” Anne asked, frowning in concern. ”Nah, just a headache. Mom and Dad gone already?” Michael replied as he pulled out a bottle of acetaminophen and poured himself a cup of coffee. ”You just missed them. Lou's still in bed, since our classes don't start til next week. Shower's all yours. There's leftover birthday cake from last night in the fridge. Not exactly breakfast fare, but it's yours so I guess you can do what you want with it.” Michael grunted in appreciation, and a little bit of envy, as he tossed a couple of pills in his mouth and washed it down with a swig from the mug, food being pretty far from his mind with the current state of his brain. As expected, the coffee had already cooled down from when his parents brewed it for their breakfast a couple of hours earlier. Since they both worked in the capital, about an hour away from where the family lived, they left early and came home late. Michael probably wouldn't see them til suppertime. As the caffeine started to kick in, his eyes opened a little wider and he took a better look at his surroundings. The slow-cooker was plugged in on the counter, beginning to warm up for the evening's dinner, most likely. He also noticed a folded sheet of paper with his name written on it sitting next to the coffee maker. As he set down his coffee mug to pick up the paper, he asked his sister: ”Do you smell something weird this morning? Like rotten eggs?” She smirked and replied, sticking out her tongue. ”Just you.” Michael chuckled as he unfolded the paper. ”Set myself up for that one,” he thought to himself as he began to read the letter.
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Hey Hon!
Congratulations on making it to your first day of high school, once again! Sorry we couldn't see you off, but we've both got early meetings so we had to head out earlier than usual. There's a roast in the slow-cooker for dinner, so if you can just make some sides when you get home, we should be back around the usual time. There's frozen veg in the freezer and instant rice in the cupboard.
Hope your first day of high school, and your first day as a teenager, goes great!
We love you.
Mom & Dad
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Michael smiled as finished the letter, and finished his coffee. As he set down the mug, the beating in his head and ringing in his ears got worse, and he could see a white spot flashing in the bottom right corner of his vision. ”Ugh,” he winced, as he brought his right hand to cover his right eye. ”Bro?” Anne called out, her concern returning. ”It's nothing. Gotta wait for the pills to kick in. I'm going to go grab that shower.” Oddly, even with his eye shut and covered, the white spot continued to flicker in the blackness of his sight, though it had now shifted into what looked like a number.
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