“What is it that you think you see?”
“I will put you back together.”“We’re still your friends. Do you still believe that?”
The alarm blares. Mike forces his eyes open, winces, and buries his face back into the pillow with a low groan. He clutches his head, running a hand through his auburn forelock. The nightmare-induced migraines are his permanent roommates, and early mornings do nothing to help. The sole reason Mike took this job in the first place? Free pizza.
His belongings lie scattered across the floor. The walls are all covered in sketches done on the backs of unpaid bills; the glue dried over time, so the drawings are gradually becoming part of the pile on the carpet. Breakfast is just a cup of bitter, cheap coffee. While brushing his teeth, Mike catches his reflection in the mirror and scratches at his stubble with a frown. Looking like the old guy, huh? Then, he flashes a charming, trademark smile. No matter how much Mike resembled his father, the smile was always different – warmer, less sadistic. The shower is less about getting clean, more about washing away the memory of his dad. Afterwards, he throws on a fresh long-sleeved purple shirt, a pair of work trousers from the back of a hallway chair, and tosses a pack of watermelon gum into the bag, popping one piece into his mouth.
Heading out to his car, Mike spots a newspaper on the porch but tosses it aside without a second glance. Probably the same old stories about missing children and serial killer theories – they haven’t stopped since The Bite.
As he drives, Mike turns on the radio, hoping for Alice in Chains; instead, Sweet Dreams starts playing. Ah, yeah… the Little Man, Elizabeth, and he used to put that song on repeat when it first came out. The two of them would sing along terribly off-key, and Mike couldn’t help but catch their infectious giggles and silliness. He doesn’t turn it off now, letting Dreams play all the way up to the Pizzeria.
His first day – not as a guest, but as an employee.
The moment Mike steps inside, the familiar scent hits him like a wave. Melted cheese, baked tomatoes, spices, garlic… How many parties had he spent there? Mike’s own birthdays were usually hollow and depressing; he would just wander around, getting in his father’s way, or hide under a table with a slice of pizza, some crayons, and paper, just to draw and eat in quiet solitude. Right there, under the central table on the left, was his favorite spot. Later on – when the boy got older, and Mom started dumping the kids on him – Mike shared that place with Liz. From there, she could see the stage and all of her beloved “performers”. Elizabeth absolutely adored the Pizzeria and her dad’s creations in general. Her enthusiasm gave Mike a glimpse into the joyful, carefree, wonder-filled childhood he never got to experience himself.
The Little Man, on the other hand, could never sit still. The animatronics unnerved him, so he constantly trailed behind Mike, annoying his friends. That was the reason Mike enjoyed scaring him. He did love that brat, yet lil’ man could be incredibly aggravating sometimes.
Who could have known it would lead to that? He didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that…
Mike’s headache flares up with a vengeance. Time to screw all that and get to work.
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