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Everyman—Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2023-02-18 18:15:35 +0000 UTCAN: Hello guys. Sorry for being so absent. This probably isn't what you guys were waiting for, but my brain is giving me a hard time lately. Please have mercy.
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In the dim, grey light of winter’s dawn, a one-story, middle-class house sat next to a narrow, tar road. Its appearance was ordinary, not liable to catch the eye of passing pedestrians or drivers.
Shadows flickered behind its neighbors’ windows, the occupants participating in their morning routines. Now and then, the sound of an engine starting could be heard, as well as the whirr of garage doors. Given the city’s morning traffic, there was no such thing as commuting too early.
It was only when the watery, orange sun peeked over the horizon that the modest house’s single inhabitant blearily dug himself out from underneath his pillows and blankets. Yawning widely, one of his hands went to his bedside table, silencing his alarm clock.
For a few moments, he remained as he was, sitting with his back against the wall. He wasn’t a morning person, so it took a while for his brain to get into gear.
Eventually, he swung his legs off the side and got up. Walking over to his single large window, he pulled the curtains apart. Light flooded the room, but it was dim. Outside, thin sporadic clouds covered the sky, obstructing the early-morning sun.
The boy sighed, tousling his unkempt hair. It was time for his morning exercise, but he wasn’t in the mood. However, after a second-or-two spent staring into thin air, he started his stretches. From his neck to his back, chest and legs—he spent about fifteen minutes loosening his stiff muscles.
When he finished, he dropped onto the carpet, launching into body-weight exercises. Being stingy with money and lazy to commute, he never bothered getting a gym membership.
During the next thirty-something minutes, he hit a myriad of muscle-groups. His routine was hardly focused, but he didn’t play sports, nor was he concerned with aesthetics. It was simply for the purpose of staying fit.
Getting up from his rubber mat, he walked over to his wardrobe, picking out a pair of black nylon shorts and a plain white t-shirt. He continued to rummage around, looking for his normal running shoes, only to realize they were in the wash. With some disappointment, he could only decide on another pair, not nearly as comfortable.
He exited his bedroom, heading for the bathroom. Still in his boxers, he put his clothes on the toilet seat, not bothering to lock the door. After taking a washcloth and wetting it with cold water, he wiped himself down. It was somewhat useless, given he was about to go for a jog, but he was sweaty after his exercise.
In the mirror above the basin, his appearance reflected. The youth looked about thirteen and wasn’t particularly tall or short. A person from earth would quickly identify his features as Latin, given his dark hair, eyes and skin that tanned easily. He was an ordinary kind of handsome, being in good shape and not suffering from pimples.
When he was done, he wore his clothes and shoes before heading to the kitchen. Aside from his feet thumping against the wooden floor, no sounds could be heard. The house was dark and empty, but it was just him, so he didn’t bother opening the curtains.
Entering the small room, a blinking red light caught his eye. Seeing it, the youth let out a small sigh. It was the answering machine—his parents must’ve left a message. He pushed the button, letting the recording play.
“Morning, Giovanni! It’s your mama and papa! We’re just calling to let you know we arrived safely!”
The upbeat, accented voice of a middle-aged woman sounded from the answering machine.
“Do you miss us yet? We definitely miss you! Hopefully this trip won’t take too long. Don’t forget to call us back, okay? We’ll be staying at the Royal Hotel for the next two weeks—the room telephone number is 555-271.”
The woman’s speech cut off abruptly, ending the recording.
The boy named Giovanni stood there for a moment before picking up the telephone nearby. He dialed the number, letting the phone ring for a minute or two before it predictably went through to the answering machine.
After leaving his parents a generic message, he ended the call and headed over to the fridge. He poured himself a small glass of water, taking a few sips.
When he was done, he headed out the front door, ready for his morning jog.
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Some time later, the front door opened and closed again. Giovanni entered, clearly out of breath. Despite the cool weather, his shirt clung to his body from sweat.
Not giving himself time to rest, he walked briskly over to the bathroom, taking off his clothes on the way. He tossed his shirt, socks and underwear into a washing-basket, keeping his shoes and shorts for tomorrow’s work-out.
He jumped into the shower, opening the cold water all the way. The chill hit him like a blow to the gut and he hurriedly squeezed some soap into his palm, wanting to wash and get out as fast as possible.
When he was done, he closed the tap and jumped out. Wringing water out of his shoulder-length hair, he grabbed a towel and dried himself. Wrapping it around his waist, he headed to his room.
The hallway’s clock read seven-twenty-five—enough time to do his hair.
Walking into his room, he fetched his brush and drier before taking a seat in front of his closet-mirror. He started the hair-drier with a click, sending a burst of cold air at his head.
Goosebumps broke out over Giovanni’s still-damp skin. Fortunately, the machine heated quickly, causing him to sigh in relief and comfort.
Combing his hair with one hand and maneuvering the drier with the other, he absentmindedly stared into the mirror. His thirteenth birthday was coming up, but he struggled to decide what, if anything, to do about it.
When his hair was mostly dry, he grabbed a dark-brown rubber band, tying it into a knot. A plastic headband, similarly colored, came afterwards, meant to keep stray hairs in check.
Now finished, he got up from his chair and started dressing. His school uniform was grey and blue, consisting of a white polyester shirt, a sleeveless sweater, a blazer and a pair of grey trousers. A blue-and-grey tie went around his neck and a pair of shiny, black leather shoes on his feet.
He took a plain silver watch from his bedside table and glanced at it. It was time for him to leave. Slinging his grey backpack over one shoulder, he headed to the front door.
While turning the doorknob, he realized he almost forgot something. Quickly walking back to the kitchen, he grabbed a prepped tin of bacon and eggs out of the fridge. Recess was around eleven, still early enough for breakfast.
Stuffing it in his sack, he walked out of the house with brisk steps, locking the door behind him. The bus stop was a block away and he didn’t want to be left behind.
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Giovanni stared out the window, watching the city pass by. He was seated near the back of the bus, a space reserved for seventh-graders. Before he knew it, he was nearing the end of middle-school
Feeling a variety of complex emotions, he sighed quietly. Due to the chill of winter, his breath fogged the glass.
Still cold from his earlier shower, he absentmindedly grabbed a scarf out of his backpack and wrapped it around his neck. This part of the East-Indian continent rarely saw temperatures lower than fifteen-degrees-Rømer, converted to around fifty-degrees-Fahrenheit. Consequently, his post-exercise routine wasn’t all that strange.
As the ride went on, the passengers continued to increase. The seat next to him was eventually occupied by another seventh-grader, but they weren’t familiar with each other, so the rest of his trip was spent in silence.
Eventually, the bus arrived in front of a tall, double-story building, built from large stones. A pointed roof of dark tiles covered it, slanting toward the back. It was difficult to see from this angle, but Trivandrum Middle-School was built on a slope, with a third floor below ground.
The bus entered through a pair of large gates, parking in a wide, gravelly lot near the back. When the vehicle came to a halt, the heavy-set female bus driver spoke a few words, welcoming the first-years on board, as well as returning students.
Giovanni simply let the words go in one ear and out the other. Given today was the start of the new school year, he expected plenty of speeches, all undoubtedly worthless. Fortunately, the bus driver concluded shortly, letting the rowdy lot of kids out onto the school-grounds.
Getting his feet under him, the boy looked around, trying to spot familiar faces. When he didn’t, he shouldered his backpack, heading for the library. It was an old haunt for him and his few friends, so he thought he’d find them there. There was still twenty-or-so minutes before the bell, enough for them to do some catching-up.
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