Wakefulness came gently the next morning. The sun was peeking through his curtains that were swaying in the light breeze. His mother had clearly been in as his clothes were no longer hung on the chair by his desk. She must have opened his window to get some fresh air into the room too. Curious, Peter climbed out of the sheets and wandered down the hall. It was rare for his mother not to wake him. In fact, it was surprising she had not entered his room like a herd of over-caffeinated elephants, insisting he bound out of bed and eat his bowl of cardboard flakes. This was whole new direction for her.

Nor was she to be found in the kitchen. The aforementioned bowl was on the table, but the flakes were still in the box and the spoon was being used to weigh down a note. Peter put the cereal box back in the cupboard and set the jug to boil. There was an unnatural feel to the silence in the house. As the jug clicked off he poured the water into a mug and dropped a peppermint tea bag in after. Taking the note from the table and his mug of steeping tea into the lounge, Peter sat on the couch to read.

“Honey,

I can see that this whole thing has upset you more than you’ve let on. Take a day off and read a book, get better and take care of yourself. I’m going out for the day so you can relax. There’s plenty of food in the house, and I’ve given you some extra in your allowance in case you want to order something else. Be good and at least try to get some fresh air today, you haven’t seen the sun since Monday.

Love you,

Mum”

A whole day to himself. The only caveat was that his mum expected him to go outside at some time during it. Peter shuddered. The whole drive of human civilisation had been to get as far from outside as possible. He normally much preferred spending the day inside with a good book. Now, it would give him the chance to research how cavemen skinned their prey. He already knew the first part of the answer: inside a cave.

He tossed the piece of paper onto the coffee table and pulled up a web page in his digital vision. He sipped his tea as he read up on early hominids and primitive tools. It seemed that the first tools were made of stone, unsurprisingly, but were incredibly sharp for all they were brittle and easily broken. Making them was quite simple too: you just had to find two rocks and use one to knock chips out of the other. Once he had found a way to make a simple knife he could acquire the needed skins with, Peter checked into tanning methods. The results nearly made him spit his tea out, there was far too much poo involved in the process. No wonder tanners went mad. No wonder the crazy old coot in the hut was mad. It was surprising he had not been forced to move out of the village, digital world notwithstanding.

Staring into his unfinished cup, Peter decided to head up to the roof. Mothers have an unerring sense as to whether their instructions have been followed so he figured he should get it over and done with as soon as possible. He took the elevator up and emerged blinking in the sunlight.

The elevator doors opened into an area that was protected from the elements by a small roofed area, but the rest of the top of the building was a pleasantly landscaped garden. Gravel paths led between the garden beds from which sprouted small clipped bushes. Benches dotted about, each with their own sunshade, for residents to sit and relax. It was like a watered down version of the Garden of Tranquillity, but the sound of horns drifting up from street level spoiled the ambiance. Here and there lighter spots on the gravel were all that remained of the ashtrays since smoking had been completely banned a few years ago. The smell still lingered though, another reminder that this world was not his preferred location. Peter buried his nose in his mug as he passed each one.

Leaning his elbows on the rail at the edge of the roof, Peter looked out over the city. The last remnants of the steam from his tea tickled his nose as he watched life happen to other people. Thousands of cars trailed nose to tail from one horizon to the other. Buildings much like his own rose in regimented order, a shelving system for humanity. Far away below ant like figures bustled along completely absorbed in their own issues, trusting their guidance apps to prevent them walking into another pedestrian or in front of a vehicle.

From a building across the street came the slamming of a door. A man stalked out onto his balcony followed closely by a screaming harridan of a woman. He stomped his foot and screamed back at her. She slapped him and he punched the glass sliding door, cobwebbing the surface. His screams ratcheted up an octave, but she just shrugged and flipped him off and stalked back inside, followed shortly by him. Soon another door slam cut off the noise, leaving Peter with the impression that this is how his parents would be if they were not forced to moderate their behaviour because of his presence.

Or, maybe not? If it were not for him and his incident the family would not be in the situation. I’m the one that had cost them their home in the suburbs. My incident that had been the cause of all the fighting and vehicular vandalism. If only there was something I could do about it, but all I’m doing is piss off bullies and cause more problems. Peter rubbed his scar again. His tea soured, Peter poured the rest over the edge and watched the stream disintegrate into a mist on the evening breeze. He briefly considered tossing the cup after it, but that would only cause more problems. Stepping into the elevator Peter leaned against the wall and let his head rest against the cool metal. Every time he returned to the real world he was reminded of how much his life sucked. What he needed was a way to stay in game for longer.

He was still considering ways to achieve an extended stay as he entered the apartment. One could only fake sickness for so long before you get taken to the clinic and outed as healthy. He could try taking the advice his Dad have given him, that would get him suspended for sure. It could also get him mushed into a pulp. More thinking was needed. Until then, there was the rest of the week to get his digital life in order.

Peter dropped his cup into the sink and grabbed a muesli bar from the cupboard. By the time he reached his room it was gone and the wrapper let fall into the bin in his room. He turned and flopped backwards onto the bed and had let the digital world claim him before the second bounce.