Thomas’ dreams were vivid last night. Glares from mysterious blobs of figures all stabbed like metal spikes of guilt in his direction, Thomas situated in the centre of the school classroom as all eyes met toward him.<span style="font-style: italic">“Now, dear Tommy, I want you to think very clearly...”</span>A voice as clear as day to the boy rang through his mind.<span style="font-style: italic"> “Did you truly not flush the toilet before leaving it, all because you wanted to play before lunch break ended?”</span>Thomas could feel his palms getting clammy, beads of sweat forming on his neck. “Well, um, uh, that is-!” His voice groaned and shivered in response to its owner’s fear; the boy absolutely detested the sound of it. Hearing the clip-clopping sounds of the teacher’s heels, notably like a horse’s canter, the boy didn’t dare to meet her face with his eyes. The teacher shook the student’s shoulder, and although such movement were coming from his mother in the real world, Thomas’ subconscious was too invested, completely under the trance of his memories made animate.<span style="font-style: italic">“Do fess up, boy. Don’t make me come back ‘ere-” </span><br/><br/>Word after word, the sound slowly converted to mother’s tone.<br/><br/>“-and wake you up again, ‘kay?” The footsteps quietened. “Wait... What? Mrs K?” Thomas blurted and turned his head forward, blinked open his eyes in an attempt to see the face of his teacher... But his eyes met the face of a chicken.<br/><br/>“...<span style="font-weight: bold">AH!</span>What happened to you?! Mrs K, I promise I’ll ne’er forget to flush again! It was an honest accident, I swear! I’ll figure out a way to undo your chickeness, please, oh please, don’t get cross!” This time, the words physically sounded from his pink lips, filling the once quiet and stilled air of his bedroom. As if trying to fumble out of his school desk and seat, dream-state Thomas faced the cruel reality as he found himself pressed against the cold bedroom floor, surrounded by smooth, plain bed sheets and comfy plaid pajamas. It surely was one way to wake up with a fresh start in the morning. “Oh, it’s just you, Poppy... You scared the livin’ daylights outta me.” His pet chicken simply stared at the boy, tilting its narrow head as if to mock him before burrowing its reddish-brown body into his arms. It took a few moments to fumble to his feet as everything appeared out of focus, crawling along the bedroom floor for a bit, practically swimming in his sheets, to finding his desk to grab hold of and finally pulling his body to stand upright. The slender digits on his hand moved along the wooden surface of the table, eventually finding his rectangular glasses. He slid them into place and the world around him felt defined. Clear. It had always been this way for Thomas, though the boy liked wearing his specs. He didn’t feel himself without them. Hastily popping on a blue denim shirt and brown pants that Alexia had picked out for him, he swooped Poppy into his arms and rushed out the door. Stroking the cooing bird’s soft feathers calmed him to a point, especially after his startling dream. It<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>based on a true story, after all.<br/><br/>Shuffling past the members of the family who had begun to settle in the kitchen, Thomas waddled out the back door and to the chicken coop, placing Poppy with the rest of her friends. “Don’t worry, I ain’t looking,” he smiled, turning around to let Poppy do her business without being watched. Thomas reckoned it was probably creepy, and perhaps rude to stare, since he wouldn’t want someone (or some-birdie) watching him, either. Enjoying the peace of the open land in its early hours, Thomas relished in the silence as he fiddled through the various chicken’s nests, gathering half a dozen eggs in his arms to carefully balance them back towards the kitchen. “Good morning~” He chirped to whoever heard as he entered the kitchen, “Can we have omelets for breakfast?” Eyes creased into smiles, he delicately rested the eggs on the kitchen counter and nodded to the people present, plopping into a chair beside the counter to listen in on their conversation.