Protected Abroad [AmazingPhil / Danisnotonfire]

Twenty-Eight: Twilight

Opening my eyes, there was an insignificant amount of light in the room. My thoughts turned towards what time it was, and what I last remembered. Phillip slept soundly without tossing and turning in the single bed once again, while I fell asleep last evening where I laid down to rest, still dressed in what I wore. The bandage began unravelling itself during the night. I lifted the covers, placed my feet on the carpeted floor and stood up from the warmth of the bed. Lifted the covers—? Phil must have tucked me in. My eyes glanced around and found both my phone and his on the beside table, each on a charger.

Taking the cranial bandages with me I left Phil's abode and went to the bathroom to inspect my new abrasions. Looking in the mirror my bump on the head was slightly raised, although someone who did not know of my fall couldn't decipher that I had taken one. I lifted my shirt to find my stitches weren't as puffy and red as they have been; only pink. They even itched and irritated me less. 

After using the restroom I entered the kitchen, seeking out some food. I found eggs in the refrigerator along with cheese, tomatoes, and, luckily, squash. In a pan I crafted an omelette, a bad one at that, but I did not burn it or under cook it, so the end product was decent tasting. I began singing to myself, as most people do in the shower, or some other task similar. 

" 'Ivory ceilings, burgundy walls. There's blood I can feel it, as we float through the halls. And as I start to spin—' Oh, you startled me." Daniel stood behind the breakfast bar. 

"Your voice is nice. Even." And added, "Steady." I turned my face away, blushing some. "What song is that?"

"Vampire Banquet by Fox Academy..." I informed. "Um..." I normally didn't stumble over my words, but the compliment to my voice caught me off guard. "Would you like an omelette? I can't promise a beautiful one, but it'll taste decently good." 

"Well, yes, of course!" He said with some gusto. Someone making him food must excite him.

I went to work: cracking los huevos, beating them in the bowl with a fork, and finally placing it into a pan with melted butter. Within the time frame of four or five minutes a plate with a fresh omelette was placed in front Daniel. He took a fork and began to consume what I had crafted. He hummed to himself a deep sounding note. 

"I hope that's an indication that it's good and not bad." I questioned. 

"Oh, yes. Very." He gushed in between shovels of food. 

Curious as to whether or not Phillip would want one, I left the kitchen and headed towards the man in question's room. I peeked my head in to see if he was awake or not, but only saw his back. Tiptoe was my choice mode of walking over to the bed and then perching on the edge.  I gently touched Phillip's shoulder and gave a subtle push and pull action.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." I whispered. A groan was his response, one similar to a teen who would not get up for school early in the morning. "I have food," was my next sentence to persuade him to wake. The response was a more interested sounding groan, if that's possible to discern. "There's an omelette waiting for you." I sang in a sing song voice, holding out the 'u' in you and using some vibrato. 

"Sounds wonderful..." Phil said finally, his voice groggy.

I got up from my perch and headed in the direction of the kitchen to repeat the process of making the food I had promised. I went to work, humming to myself. Daniel began to talk about video ideas he has had and wanted an opinion on them. Most I could relate to in some way, whether a hundred percent or only relatively. They weren't complicated ideas to comprehend, but more down to earth concepts that humans experience daily that we don't think about, because they are a regular occurrence in our lives.

Phillip stumbled out of his room and sat down at the breakfast bar about the same time that I finished his primary meal of the day. From the refrigerator I pulled the container of apple juice and found a glass to pour the liquid into, and set it beside the plate situated in front of Phil's chair. Daniel continued talking to me, I listening, while I set about cleaning up. It was the least I could do for what both of the boys have done for me. I washed dishes, put away ingredients, and reorganized everything that I had touched during my reign of cooking terror. Once the boys had finished their comida, I took them and placed them into the dishwasher to be started at a later time. ... When I perhaps knew how to start one. 

"You think you should be doing all this moving around and working with the fall you took?" One of  the boys asked, I assumed Phillip from the pitch of voice: it was a half or full step higher than that of Daniel's. 

"I feel fine." You know those moments when you suddenly remember something relatively important? This was one of those moments. "Phillip," I began to question, "what ever happened to me completing high school online?" 

"Oh, right. Hmm..." He thought aloud. "I'll... Get back to you on that." 

I decided to be bold. I wanted a part of home, without being at home. I would rent from the library a few DVDs that I watched at the neighbor's house. They were always over my parent's house doing some type of drug so they rarely used their television or digital video disc player. I wondered to myself if this 'Netflix' had one of my favorite shows of all time. "Daniel, Phillip?" Queried I. They both hummed back a response. "Could I use... the Netflix? To watch something?" What else would you do with it, genius? My Jiminy Cricket retorted to my spoken words. 

"Sure. I'll watch with you." Daniel offered.

"Yeah, I'm going to figure out this online school stuff." The remaining boy spoke and moved towards the hallway, and ultimately his room. 

Daniel hoped from his stool the opposite direction and collected remotes. With a few button clicks the television screen turned red and the Netflix logo was centered. Daniel found the search bar and tossed me the remote, for I had changed my position from the kitchen to the second couch, closest to the windows. I typed the letters that consisted of the title of the television series, and wondered if it was heard of over seas. It had no reason not to be known. 

When the search had been completed, Netflix made the series available to me. My lips formed an incredulous smile I could not contain. I jumped forward from my regular sitting position to one where I was crossed legged, back leaned opposite of the couch back. 

"Jeeze, you're excited." Remarked Daniel. 

I clicked to see what episodes they had listed for viewing, and I succeeded in finding what I wanted: episode eight of The Twilight Zone. 

With the push of a button the episode title indicated that the show was being loaded: "Time Enough at Last."

The voice of Rod Sterling is always music to my ears, even though it sends spine-tingling vibes through me every time.

" 'Witness Mr. Henry Bemis, a charter member in the fraternity of dreamers. A bookish little man...' "