I'm at the door. I can feel my heart beating in my legs. I just ran 6 miles, crossing on red lights, jumping over dogs. I think I accidentally bumped into an old lady. My hands are like wet noodles trying to hang on to the door handle while opening it. I slam the door behind me and run to my bedroom. I want to fall asleep. I want this to end. I can still hear her voice. Wait, did she say anything? Am I imagining things? Please let this end. I get in bed, and I wake up.

My bed sheets are all wet. I'm covered in sweat, my- my palms are sweaty. My palms never get sweaty. I look at the clock. It's 4 am. I get up, take a shower, and go sleep on the couch. I'll ask mom to wash my bed sheets tomorrow.

It's Thursday, I'm back home from school, one more day and I get to go to my friend's birthday party.

Dad mumbles: "Honey, when did we buy the 6 pack?"
"Last Friday."
"Huh?"
"On the 6th, remember when you had your doctor's appointment?"
"Oh yes, of course."

I finish my plate.
"Thanks for dinner! I'm off to sleep, goodnight!"
"Night son."
"Sweet dreams honey."

I'm laying on the grass. The wind caresses my skin. Birds are singing somewhere in the trees. I let my head turn to the side as it relaxes, and I spot a closed wooden door frame standing in the grass a couple meters away. The wood looks old. Like it's been taken from an abandoned house somewhere in a Forrest. It has a bit of moss in a few places, and some bulges and cracks from having endured too many storms. I get on my feet and walk up to it. It smells like the city. I test the handle. Touching it like it's hot. Nothing happens. I open the door. There is a ringing sound somewhere like someone walked into a store. I can't see anything at first. I step in and let my eyes adjust to the dark.

Fluorescent lights on the ceiling light up many shelves of different products. There are snacks, cleaning products, an alcohol section, and a few other ones. I walk up to the beverages. There's the brand dad bought and hasn't opened in a week now. Liquid death.
"Hey kid." says a raspy old voice.
I look up, it's the woman. I look back to the door. Metal frame, glass pane.

Shit.