I wanna go home.

  Sitting in a near empty restaurant I stare out the rge front window, the cssy dim lights making the boredom on my aged face even clearer. Looking at the half finished pte of lobster in front of me I fg my server for the check. It was a bit gross but maybe I should take it to go. Normally I never eat in nicer restaurants, I can't afford much on a teacher’s sary after all but I figured I'd dress up and do something big for my birthday. Plus, it’s not good to waste food.

  “Fuck me I’ve gotten old.”

  Eighty years of life with fifty five as a teacher. I guess it was a nice life. Anyways, time to pay up and go home. God, I can’t wait to toss this suit onto the floor and put on some zy pants.

  After paying and taking a to go box, I start heading home. My luck is the worst as usual, red lights galore but oh well. At least I get more time to enjoy the radio. On the way home I look to my clean car and sigh. I remember always wanting something like a race car as a kid but those are just not right for the adult world. Something small and gas efficient is always best. As usual it’s mostly long waits and plenty of red lights.

  Oh, looks like I’m home. Five bedrooms and four bathrooms with a rge living room, a spacious kitchen sharing its space. The outside wn looks clean, two apple trees sit next to the driveway with small flower bushes surrounding them. With a smile I go inside, a heavy sigh leaving my mouth as soon as I walk in.

  Filthy.

  The floor’s clearly haven’t been cleaned in months, random stains and trash lie sprawled across randomly. Ignoring it all I walk to the kitchen and grab the least stained cup from the dish filled sink, lightly rinsing it before drinking some water. Suddenly, my stomach starts to hurt. After a moment it goes away. Even more zily than usual I go to my room and throw myself onto the sheetless bed.

  So this is my life I guess. Soon I’ll retire and spend all my time here. Maybe I should clean. I may be old but I'm not weak.

  It’s all just so overwhelming.

  The empty soda cans on my nightstand, the stains on the floor, having to move the bed to put on sheets, the messy shower, the dirty clothes lying on my bed. Everytime I want to start I think about everything I’d have to do and I just lose all motivation. Teaching is so much easier. With another heavy sight I grab the to-go box and finish my lobster, stopping to reminiscence with every bite.

  I’m sure my son would be so disappointed in his dear old dad if he was still alive and could see me. Maybe I should try to clean, even if only a lil bit. A bit less zy I grab the trash bin from the kitchen and drag it to my room. As I start to get rid of trash I start to remember the dreams. Life became so much worse after my son died, reaching my lowest after the divorce but something brought me back. On my fortieth birthday, shortly after my son's death I started dreaming of another world. The first one is still clear in my head even after all these years.

  Day passed as normal. Work, home, eat, and then sleep. Except I actually dreamed. It felt so real I thought I was awake. I remember waking up and seeing everything around me was massive, like I had shrunk. I couldn’t move but I could see myself, or at least what I had taken over. At night, in a dirty Victorian-era like slum, a small boy walked towards a trash heap and grabbed the small wooden marionette I had taken over. He was so skinny and filthy, the loose rags he wore caked in mud and dirt.

  Despite the thin frame I could tell. He looked just like my dead son. The same pale skin and thick curly brown hair with matching eyes. After grabbing me a bright smile filled his face. “Oh wow a toy!” Looking both ways he stashed me in his shirt, cautiously leaving the alley and moving somewhere in the outskirts of the city. As soon as he saw there was no one around he pulled me out and started talking.

  “Finally I have a real toy! I can be just like the other kids. No sharing the church toys or having to ask to py. Hey there mister puppet my names ______ and we’re friends now. Hehe, I can’t wait to show you my home! It’s not the nicest but I like it. I hope you do too!”

  Huh? Looking at him my head bnks, not even realizing I can’t hear his name. After a few minutes we find ourselves in a medium run down home. Filthy and damaged. The windows are broken open and taped over, small holes cover the roof. Oddly enough, despite the mess one spot is near spotless. The center bedroom has a small mattress on the floor, wooden boards covering the holes on the roof. With a weaker smile the boy grabbes small random objects and moves them aside.

  “These are my other toys. I like to use the stick to pretend I’m a mage. The rocks are really funny shaped and feel nice so I like to py with them in my hands or just roll them across the ground. Oh! And I use the broken mirror to sometimes pretend I'm talking to another me.”

  Looking at him I can’t help but want to pull him in for a hug but no matter how hard I try I can’t speak or move.

  Please! Just let me tell him he deserves all the toys!

  Unable to do anything, I watch on as he sits me against the nearest wall.

  “The other kids can be mean cause I don’t have a mom or dad but that’s okay because that means I don’t have to follow rules. The church doesn’t really like me either but that’s okay too. I don’t need em! …yeah…I don’t need em. Hey, mister puppet…Can…can you be my dad? Please?”

  Everything goes silent and clear. Finally, finally I can move and talk.

  I can feel I can talk but I don’t know what to say. Maybe…he really does look just like Oliver.

  “Sure. I’ll gdly be your dad.”

  “THE HELL?!?”

  Jumping up he immediately books it out of the room, nearly tripping over himself at the door. Panicked, I try to stand up before thinking maybe seeing the talking puppet walk might scare him further. And so for a few moments we stare at each other. After five minutes he walks back in cautiously, grabbing his stick and poking me a few times.

  “I know you talked. Are you alive?”

  What exactly should I say? Considering how weird this is I think he’ll believe just about anything I say. Maybe it’s best to be honest. It’s just a dream after all.

  “Yup, my name’s Alex Myers. What was your’s? I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Umm. My name’s ______.”

  “Nope. Still can’t hear it.”

  After a few more tries with no name we give up. For another few minutes we look at each other in silence. I wonder what he’s thinking? He really does look just like him…God he’s so skinny. I need to get him a nice meal. A better bnket too. I’m not sure how but I’lll find a way to give this kid a better life.

  I can’t make the same mistakes…I won’t, I just won’t.

  “So, uh. Will you really be my dad?”

  While I was lost in my thoughts he moved closer, sitting directly in front of me. His eyes with a happy curiosity as an excited smile follows. Looking at him I see even more glimpses of my son. This time I'll do everything right.

  ¨Gdly.¨

  I promise.

  And so we spent the night talking. Continuing to clean the house, memories of that night continue to flood my head. The boy moving back occasionally. Him looking at me excitedly. The memory of every word and question brightening my face as I clean.

  “Wait, so you're human? Does that mean I can hug the real you one day?”

  “Whoa you're from another world! So then I can’t hug you? That’s okay I can just hug the doll!”

  “Hey mister, since you have a st name does that mean you're a noble? No?!? People really just have st names where you're from?”

  “Hey mister can I have a st name too? I promise I won’t pretend to be a noble. I just wanna have one pleaseeeeeeee.”

  “Oh! Mister, can you move? No? Okay, we can py something else then. Here let me show you my home.”

  “This is my bed. And these are my toys. And this is where I sleep. I use the public restrooms and sometimes the church lets me use their showers.”

  Suddenly, my room is clean. Maybe I should clean all the floors? First, I should use the restroom. Just as I’m about to remember more a violent twist hits my stomach. “Fuck me was the lobster bad?” It didn’t taste the best but that’s just how it’s supposed to taste right? Rushing to the restroom I lean onto the toilet and start vomiting.

  My head hurts.

  God, it tastes so gross.

  Everything feels so weak.

  My throat lights on fire as I vomit everything in my stomach. Despite the overwhelming dizziness, the sourness in my mouth is clear. I try to stand up, pushing up only to fall down and hit my head against the toilet rim. Curled up, I hug my stomach, the pain almost overwhelming my thoughts. For a few moments I’m in hell, till it just stops. Suddenly there’s nothing.

  Am I dead?