The sticky, leather couch stuck to my bare legs where my green-apple-green shorts didn’t cover. My Chinese bangs were growing out and stuck to my forehead almost like my sweat was some form of glue that came from the pores of my overly tan skin. That numb sensation over took the hand I use to change the channel with, and a sound that should belong to some ravenous beast erupted from underneath my baggy Pool Serpents tee-shirt that I forgot to take off after my swim meet. Chlorine wafted up of the dark blue cloth and straight into my nose, it had a hint of salt from the French fries I failed to catch in my mouth when they were thrown at me.

I was hungry. No, not just hungry. Starving. Totally and completely starving, that if I didn’t move soon my skin would begin to melt away and my bones would be eaten by the sins of my non-eating ways. Red blood would stain the already stained couch, and flies would stick to the pools of sweat that radiated from my once skin-covered armpits.

I couldn’t let that happen, so I planted my feet down on the too-fuzzy-brand-spanking-new carpet and began the ever so long journey to the refrigerator. Step after weary step, I passed my beloved, my best friend, my life: the TV. It was torture, pure torturous, torture! I could hear my toenails grind into the floorboards that were buried underneath that stupid brown-grey carpet somewhere. I could feel the forming of blisters and brush burns on my weakened souls after a day in the water. The click-clack of a bronze, and two gold medals on my neck sounded through the empty corridor as the walls began to close in… Closer, and closer. The walls seemed to want to eat me after the years I banged my hockey stick of them. They wanted blood, they wanted revenge, they wanted me.

I fell to my knees, grasping my neck in a oh-so-feeble attempt to break free. My knees erupted into a crawl as I pushed forward, the palms of my soggy-sweat hands pulling me along that scratchy rug. The walls getting closer and closer, as my body carried me away into the depths of the dining room. I was almost home free, almost.

Under the bronze-painted-metal legs of the table was the beast, the all-so terrifying mut of a dog: Lexi. Her nose black, her eyebrows pushed up against her vanilla colored fur, her brown eye staring me down, and her devil blue eye scrutinizing me with such ferocity that my stomach dropped. Ears laid back, she readied herself to pounce on me, but to my rescue Spot, my darling baby tortuous-shell cat bound her way past me and up the stairs, freeing me from Lexi’s stone gaze.

I pushed my hands on the ground as hard as I could, making myself stand. My legs wobbled with unsteady shakes, making me almost fall into the table, but I pushed forward. Five feet to go. One step… two… three… four…. Almost there, but Lexi beat me to it. The evil dog took her stance in front of the refrigerator, her tail wagging in the air like the propellers of a helicopter.

I took a deep breath, this was my only chance to get past her, to the ‘fridge and the walls and walls of delicious morsels I could fill my starving tummy with.

“MOVE!” she blinked, her battle stance revoked and her angry eyes turned happy and joyous. A pink, slobber-covered tongue escaped her full set of teeth and licked my hand. The kiss was hot, it was sweet, and she moved. I opened the refrigerator and peered into it’s contents. Empty…. All except a half eaten birthday cake and an opened can of soda.