Or was it the cold pizza talking?

I gulp. My throat burns. Another sick day taken away by this agonizing bacterial infection. A day off of work, and yet I sit on the floor of my room, editing and working up a mental sweat trying to figure how to let Landon breathe a little. He is on day thirty of being trapped in his own psyche/apartment. How to get him out?

And then I notice that my hair is messed up as a tendril starts to fall forward in front of my eye. My clothes start to feel baggy and I crave a Dum Dum sucker, preferably root beer. I think back to what I had for breakfast: cold pizza.

"Oh no" I whisper.

That's right. We are one and the same compadre. Landon smirks. 

The current image of me would undoubtly warrant a copy/ paste action, followed by quick editing during which the words FACEPALM or EPIC FAIL would be scrawled across my face. 

"This is great." I am a terrible liar.

It will be. Think about it. You can keep me company in here.

"Don't you want to get out of this apartment?"

I see what you see. I saw that note in that flowery journal your boss gave you for the Secret Valentine gift exchange. 


I don't feel like remembering that Alice person. She can haunt me, stay out of reach for as long as she wants.

"But you need adventure Landon. You need to get out more."

If I need to, you do too. I live through you. Let's go to New York.

"If I work, you should too. So, until you start making me money honey, you are staying alone in the apartment."

Suit yourself.

The voice fades for now. I know he'll pop up again. Therefore, to ensure we have something to chat about, I think it is time that someone comes knocking at his bedroom window.

I hate you.


The End

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