Grinning at the appearance of the bright, white façade, you make your way up to the place you’ve always been so fond of, finding the spare key in the secret ‘fake’ rock as usual. You unlock the door, without any fear or trepidation, for the place is filling you with some uncommon nostalgia, and you enter grandly.
You push past the shoes, the coats, and the random things that seem out of your reach in this gaping hallway, and slowly open the door to the living room. Your sister is slumbering on the sofa, but the TV is still on, playing the scene in which Alice is falling, but here, forever into a bottomless pit.
She creep up to your sister and shake her, hoping to announce to her that she should wake up and continue watching the video so that it doesn’t keep rewinding itself for her.
“Alice…” you whisper, “Alice, I’m home…”
As you speak, your eyes become heavy, and your jaw feels as though it is dripping down beyond your chin and your neck. You want nothing more than to settle beside your sister.
Suddenly, you feel a real hand upon your back, and, opening your eyes, you see your younger sister pulling at your dressing-gown impatiently.
“You were sleep-talking,” she says, poking you in the arm. Hard. “You were saying my name. What is it? Were you dreaming about me?”
You rub your eyes and look up. You’re on the sofa, stretched out, and your sister is staring up at you as she clings onto your jumper. You pinch the back of your left hand gently; yes, you’re awake enough for that to hurt.
“Yes,” you tell Alice, smiling, “yes, I was.”