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He’d awoken again from a sleep he had no clue how long had lasted. The sun was no longer outside his window, the house full of shadows not belonging to him. He’d decided long ago that it was not worth the trouble to get up, and lay still on his bed, hands limp at his sides.
He’d always made sure to avoid clasping his hands together. He thought the position made him look like he was laying in a coffin. Maybe he was.
He blinked up at the window, the outside shining blue into his room and turning it into an ocean. Sunny revisited a brief memory of blue water and stinging sunburn, trying to remember what it felt like to be in the sun long enough for that to happen. He thought hard for a brief period as he stared into the space outside the window pane.
An oven being preheated in the middle of July, making you sweat in front of the AC. The feeling of a cat stretched out across your chest, making it hard to breathe. Awakening from a summer nap, glued to the couch as you throw the blankets off of you in an attempt to cool down.
Sunny held his forearms, remembering the sensation of a sunburn. He tried imagining his fingertips leaving white-hot imprints on his arms before fading back to a burnt red. He did his best to recollect the feeling of an ache deserving of the aloe vera spread that was always kept in the fridge.
He and □□□ were probably the one to use it the most; Sunny always burned easily and □□□ never wore sunscreen. □□□□ would get onto him for not wearing it after every beach trip, and □□□□ would always be right behind her in agreement. □□□□□□ just laughed at him.
He recalled the bottle of sunscreen □□□□ always had with her. “All the grown ups wear sunscreen,” she’d say, “future grown ups should wear it too!”
Sunny never wore enough not to burn. Now, he kind of missed the feeling. He didn’t really know how it felt anymore. Sunny let his arms drift back to his sides, imagining he was laying on a beach towel. It was hard; his bed was much more comfortable than a beach towel.
Regardless of how much he’d wished to feel these things again, it didn’t matter. The warmth he knew now only existed from the clothes he wore and the blanket that engulfed him like a blanket of snow. No matter how much he squeezed himself into it and curled in on himself, it was never warm enough. Nothing like the sun.
Regardless, it was comfortable and safe. It was enough. It was enough.
Sunny thought about how many things he missed as he drew the covers over himself. He was so out of reach at this point that there was no reason to return to anything. What would there be for him out there? Would the sun still be there?
Would the sunshine be as warm? Would he sunburn the same, and would the bottle of aloe vera still be there waiting for him like always? The tree in the backyard was gone, and the leaves were no longer there to shade him. He would shrivel away faster out there than in here.
How many things had shriveled away while he was gone? Would he be gone before he could see the damage? He couldn’t decide which one he wanted more, so Sunny ignored his own question.
He wanted to disappear inside the ocean he’d created within his room and cry enough to drown in it. But he couldn’t. He could never remember any real reason to.
Sunny closed his eyes, hoping to dream of sunshine and sand. Even if he could no longer remember, it was warmer when he couldn’t see the blue of his room and the bed that wasn’t there anymore.
He slowly drifted away under the covers until he couldn’t feel the gaping hole in his mind or the cold of his body, waking up in a place where he could feel nothing instead.
“Hi OMORI! We were hoping you’d come by soon!” He hears a familiar voice.
It was enough.