den

Immersed in a dark sunken den, the deep brown couch envelops me, and green shag carpet embraces my bare feet. My parents are perched on another couch against the far left wall. Blue light illuminates their stony faces as two monstrous sharks fight in the TV, biting chunks from each other, crimson swirling in the deep. A fair-haired girl lounges to my left: a family friend but her name escapes me. She scoots closer, and a warm surge of affection pulses through me as her soft head lands on my shoulder. I glance at my parents and see them glaring. They are alert to this sinful behavior, alert to thorns growing in my mind, any fleshy desires stirring for correction. Paranoia overpowers the girl's paralyzing warmth, and so I stand, irritated, feverish. I mutter goodnight and climb out of the den, hoping the girl will follow, but all that follows is her warm memory.