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Novelo Rectangle

Fream - 1950s slang for&nbsp;someone who doesn't fit in **** "Girl, you gotta try these cookies I just made," Janet called out from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the clatter of pans. She was already halfway through her third one, crumbs dusting her blouse as she chewed. The sweet scent of sugar and butter filled the room, a stark contrast to the bitter New York City air outside her apartment. The voice of her roommate jarred Alice from a deep sleep and she sat up in bed, wondering why Janet was baking at this hour of the morning, whatever that was. She had no idea what time it was. "Coming," she called, knowing that if she didn't respond Janet would just invade the privacy of her room. She pushed back the comforter, and shrugged off sleep as she padded toward the bedroom door. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the cool metal doorknob, feeling a strange tremble of anticipation in her chest. She took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, only to find Janet's apron hanging empty from a chair. The room was a flurry of 1950s pastel perfection: mint green cabinets, a matching refrigerator, and a formica table with chrome legs. Her eyes widened in confusion. "Janet?" she called out, but her voice echoed back at her, unanswered. The only sound was the ticking of a wall clock that hadn't been there when she'd gone to bed. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were papered with roses, and a vintage radio played a tune she vaguely recognized from an old movie. On the counter, a fresh pot of coffee was percolating, sending plumes of steam into the air. It was all too... real. Alice felt a cold hand of dread close around her neck, choking her. Was she dreaming? Movement at the door caught her eye, and she spun around to find a little boy, no more than six, standing there. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and a bowl of cereal in his hand. "You're finally up, Mom!" he exclaimed, a spoonful of Cheerios flying through the air. Alice staggered backward, her hand flying to her mouth. "M-Mom?" she stuttered, her mind racing to keep up with the impossibility of it all. The boy looked up at her, his grin widening. "Don't worry," he said, "you're just tired from the dance last night." The dance? Alice felt a sudden swirl of panic. Her brain scrambled to piece together the last thing she could remember, but it was as elusive as the dark corners of the room. She had gone to bed alone in her New York City apartment, hadn't she? Her eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for some clue to this bizarre twist of reality. Everything was so... clean. The countertops gleamed, the floor was spotless, and not a single dish was out of place. The only thing that seemed out of order was the man at the table, sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. Her heart skipped a beat as he looked up, folding the paper to reveal a face that was at once both familiar and foreign. "Good morning, dear," he said, his voice as comforting as a warm blanket. "You're just in time for breakfast."

Fream

Jenn1970

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Jennifer Richardson

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