"Goodbye Curly Head"

"Gutted Two-Track"

As the door closed behind him, a putrid smell of cigarette smoke immediately assaulted his nostrils. It wasn't anything new, though, just another day in paradise.

Andy carefully scaled the steps leading to the living room. His halo bumped against the top of the doorframe.

"Shi... Shh."

A quick, sharp jolt of pain ran down his spine. Even despite his rather short height, the only thing he never really got used to in this apartment were the unnecessarily low ceilings and doorframes His dad never seemed to mind, though. Never complained about it, at least.

Though, it’s not like they talked much, anyway.

Thoroughly soaked and shivering, Andy made his way through the living room, hoping to leave the least amount of rainwater sinking into the moldy floorboards. What a mess. Maybe he should’ve just skipped the fountain diving.

Without thinking much of any fashion norms, he threw on a set of fresh clothes. Thankfully he left a strategic pile on the living room’s couch, which really complimented the overall deplorable condition of the flat.

Now to grab something to eat. The kitchen was completely empty, with dirty dishes piling up in the sink. The stench was almost bad enough to break through all that cigarette odor. Almost.

He reached towards the small, cubical fridge, hoping to find something at least half edible inside. A few empty shelves, a bunch of frozen, factory made dinners. Guess it's gonna be a Lasagna type of night.

As the pasta block kept spinning inside the little radioactive box, Andy switched on the radio. It was old. Maybe even as old as this dump. It immediately picked up a military broadcast, his favorite.

“... Even with additional mercenary forces moving in from the west, they were unable to break the apostolic knights’ wills. While our peacekeeping forces remain in control of the situation, we strongly urge all and any citizens to help the cause, in the name of the Law. Again, we urge any and all citizens to chip in. Fight for the cause, fight for peace not only in Kazdel, but the entirety of Terra! Remember, if you’re over fifteen, you can enlist at your local monastery and-...”

Andy adjusted the radio’s frequency knob.

Enlistment, huh? 

The recruiter’s ever so increasingly desperate pleas were drowned out by the sounds of a classic rock solo as he turned to the microwave. Wonder how his father felt about this whole war ordeal. How would he feel if his only son were to… Nah, that’s a dumb thought.

Where was the old man, anyway? Probably in his den, slumped over a parchment roll and bawling his eyes out.

Andy’s sigh grew dim as the microwave oven finally beeped. He couldn’t eat it here. Not with all these dirty plates and this goddamn cigarette smoke.

His room wasn’t much better. It would be best described as sad but positive at the same time. A real contradiction.

Plaster falling off the ceiling, a lack of furniture other than the bare essentials, a large window to peek out of, imagining a brighter future. The walls were the positive contrast here, being covered with bright, loud posters of bands from far away lands. Kazimierzan black metal cults, Idol groups from Lungmen, even those devilish Sarkaz rock 'n roll quartets, grinning down upon him from the main stages of countries he's only ever heard of in school or on the radio. There wasn’t even a TV in this hovel.