By Jacob Johnson

I strut down the stairs and into my dining room, where the beautiful beams of the Saturday morning sunlight illuminate its essence. As usual, Alex is already up in the seat I dragged him into after our Friday night TV and ice cream session.

“You know, you don’t have to wait for me to wake up to start making breakfast. It is my pleasure, of course, but it’d be nice to wake up to the smell of bacon every once in a while.”

I get some eggs and bacon out of the fridge, turn on the radio for some background noise, and start whipping up breakfast. When I serve Alex his plate, he forgets to say thank you. Again. I look up from the table at him and notice he has turned to a hue of green, as opposed to his usual pretty shade of purple. His neck is cocked back, and he is staring up at the ceiling. I pull his head level to mine, and remind him about our manners. I let go, and his head falls straight down. He’s staring at the plate beneath him now. Still no thank you.

“Alexander. I am getting sick and tired of this behavior. This is the fourth day in a row you aren’t getting anything to eat. If this happens again, I’m just going to have to throw you out back with your brother, who by the way already has maggots feasting on his eyes.”

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