Their home was exactly as Arthur remembered it, with a central living area filled with toys and discarded clothes. The unfinished dinner on the table told Arthur that he and his brother had rushed out again to receive their returning father.
The kitchen was more of a mess, as if his mother was in the middle of creating a larger meal than the sandwiches on the table. A pot released fumes and vapor as it reached the boiling point, whistling through the release valve.
Arthur turned it off.
He made his way back toward the living room and stared at the television. A show about a shapeshifting teen, one he liked as a child, was being aired. It was about a teenager with the wrong set of powers trying to do the right thing.
Arthur turned it off as well.
These little details of their lives had no place to be here. Arthur felt enraged that he would see them again, knowing that each one of them was perfectly orchestrated to move him somehow.
