Dream Sequence Part 2: The life of a NEET

I awoke in my own bed to the sound of whispers at my door.

“Shouldn’t we wake him already?” whispered a female voice. “He’s already late for school.”

“Just give him some time, honey. You know what he’s going through right now,” a male voice replied.

“I’m just worried about him. He never leaves his room except to go to those conventions,” she whispered.

“I’m worried about him too. How about this? You make him his favorite breakfast while I try and talk to him, okay?” he said.

“Okay. Good luck,” she said. A pair of footsteps drew farther away from the door until I couldn’t hear them any more. Then, there was a light knock at my door.

“Hey, Flynn,” he said gently. “You up yet? I’m coming in.” True to his word, the door opened and the man entered. He was in his early forties, had short black hair, brown eyes, and a well trimmed beard. He was dressed in casual clothes, just jeans and a nondescript t-shirt. “How ya doin, buddy.”

“I’m okay, dad,” I said, sitting up a bit in bed.

“Your mom’s making breakfast. You gonna come down?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “It’s gonna be delicious.”

“N-no thanks, dad,” I said, trying to lay back down, but my stomach growled.

“Looks like somebody’s hungry,” my Dad laughed. “Come on, she’s making your favorite.”

“...are you gonna make me go to school?” I asked, not meeting his gaze, but I could feel it: one usually of severity and sincereness, but mostly just concern at the moment.

“Nah...what’s one more day on the pile,” he said nonchalantly. “Cmon, go get a shower, it’ll be ready by the time you’re done. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah...” I muttered. He slowly got up and headed for the door.

“Hey,” he said, causing me to look up. “I’m proud of you.” He left the room, leaving the door cracked behind him. I sluggishly tosses the covers off to the side, swinging my legs down to the floor. Shakily, I stood up, grabbing a fresh pair of underwear from my dresser. I trudged to the bathroom that was connected to my room, slinging a towel over the shower railing. I set my underwear on the sink before stripping down and starting the shower.

When the water had sufficiently warmed, I got into the shower. The hot water bombarding my skin was a sensation I hadn’t felt in who knows how long. For the longest time, I merely stared up at the showerhead, watching the water come out. Eventually, the water began to cool down, and I decided to step out, shutting off the water and drying off with the towel.

Back in my room, I dressed myself with an old pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Stepping out of my room, I headed down the stairs to the ground floor, following the scent of bacon.

“Hey, son. Glad you could make it down,” my father said, setting plates out at the table. “Your mother made bacon.”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting at the table.

“Here you go sweetie,” she said, placing a plate with chocolate chip pancakes, a biscuit, and several strips of bacon on it in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice.

“Thanks mom,” I said, biting into a piece of bacon. She was in her late thirties, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her bright blue eyes shining under her glasses. She was still wearing that old apron I decorated when I was a kid whenever she cooked. Some things never change.

“How’s your day been?” she asked.

“Dunno yet,” I said, sipping orange juice. She gave a gentle smile, sitting down next to my father. There was some awkward silence as we ate for a bit.

“Sweetie,” she said. My dad looked to her and shook his head. She looked sad for a moment. “Do you want to come to the market with me tomorrow? We can stop by the bookstore on the way home.”

“Uh, no thanks.” I said. She looked down. “Actually, I was thinking about...maybe going to school tomorrow.” Their eyes both lit up.

“That’s great!” My father said, beaming.

“How wonderful,” said my mom, like it was something worthy of praise.

“I guess,” I mumbled, going back to eating. My mom stood up, heading back to the kitchen before returning with a bowl of assorted vegetables.

“Eat up you two. You’re gonna need to if you’re gonna stay healthy,” she said, taking a bite of a carrot. My father immediately turned his nose up at them, and I felt a pit forming in my stomach.

“I refuse.” he said.

“Ehhhh...?” said my mother, glaring at him. She pushed the bowl towards him. He refused to budge.

“Don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Set a good example, Paul,” she whispered.

“But they’re awful!” He complained. “If it’s about being healthy, I’d rather go run a mile!”

“Exercise means nothing without a healthy diet. So...Eat. The. Greens.” She said, becoming increasingly more aggressive.

“But-” he tried to complain further, but my mom adeptly shoved a piece of broccoli into his mouth, silencing him. She then turned to me.

“I’ll just eat some carrots,” I surrendered.