Hi people! This is (supposed to be) a few chapters long. There will be Crenny, slight Kebe and one-sided Karaig. I won't say too much because it would ruin it, but you should know that, except for the prologue here, most chapters will be told in Karen's point of view (still third person though). I'm a foreigner, I don't speak nor write a perfect English, so please bear with the mistakes/awkward grammar and syntax you may find here. Enjoy. :)

The sky was almost blue, or at least it was a close call: it was far from its usual plain grey and that alone was already an event of some sort out here. The colors were the main problem with this city. Anthracite, black, dazzling and icy white hues shared the place with metallic tinges that sometimes agreed to be almost blue –but great lord, a true, vivid one would have been asking too much. Some other dude might have found some other reproach to blame the place, perhaps even some more relevant ones. However the fucking sky and the TV that was only working half of the time were the most annoying fucks ever as far as Craig was concerned. He wasn't a demanding person, you see.

As long as everything was fine, he was fine too. His credo was to never overthink it, and by the way he was lying on the sofa with a bowl of cereal on his lap, there was no doubt it worked awesomely. His mother –she was quiet in the kitchen. His father –he was a bit less quiet at work. His sister –God only knows where she was. So much for her, good for him, at least he didn't have to watch the trouble-filled asses of some Kardashians on TV. He sighed, switched channels once, twice, three and four times, zapped gleefully and doomed a few of the programs that kept on airing in spite of their obvious lack in interest. He decided to doom the stupid people who kept their rating afloat all the same while he was at it. He knew the programs like the back of his hand. Four pm meant that in about fifteen minutes there would be old cartoons reruns two channels higher. It was alright; damn it, it was even quite good if you just went along.

-Honey, said his mother, it may be about time you… Go out, play, or do something, don't you think so?

She stood right before him, more precisely right between him and the screen. She saw the way he was barely sitting on the sofa, eating chocolate, cladded in an old jogging and even older shirt. There was no way she hadn't guessed "going out" wasn't in his plans that day. His posture and attitude as a whole let out a clear message: I feel good where I am and I absolutely intend on staying. Her fists on her hips, her mouth a crisp, she frowned and still managed to look more worried than angry somehow. She glared at him, obviously on the verge of throwing him out in the garden –on the verge on impeachment, may he say.

He knew she was expecting some kind of answer, but he didn't really catch which one.

-I don't know, he retorted randomly, going for his favorite, sacrosanct neutrality.

-Karen called. She wanted to know whether you're alright. And what do I say, huh? I say you're too busy pretending to be a zombie to answer texts, or that the TV ate your soul? Maybe just saying you're doing as good as usual and doing nothing would be a better idea, wouldn't it?

Craig raised his head the moment she mentioned Karen. If Karen called, it meant he was in deep shit again some way or another –or that she was, which was more or less the same thing. He gave her money already. They made up a while ago, and he was always there for her when it was needed.

Of course, "hey how are you"'s, "are you coming with us next Saturday"'s, and the likes counted for nothing. He hadn't signed for that much. The terms included money, hours spent on the telephone telling her everything was going to be okay, and even scaring the shit out of some jerks at her school. It had to remain a give-and-take kind of deal: he looked after her, and she let everything he had something to do with in marvelous, brilliant peace, et voilà. They had tried to take care of each other and stuff; it had been the worst fiasco ever, stinking counterfeit. They had both been utterly unhappy during that time. They weren't any happier now, but at least they were breathing.

Try and explain stuff like that to your mother. He'd have a good laugh.

-Tell her that I'm… Fine?

-Would that make me a liar?

He looked away and studied with great attention the patterns on the sofa. Wasn't that an old coffee stain here? And there was a flower, how nice.

-Craig, would that be a lie?

-Not really, I'm fine, I swear. Now leave me alone for two minutes while I'm watching TV.

-You didn't use to spend so much time staring at it. So, how is it going with Karen?

-She's just a kid, anyway, and I'm…

-Is she alright at least?

-Yes.

-And so, you..

-Mom, shit. TV. Please. I'm watching.

He glared at her, his spoon stuck in the air between his mouth and his bowl. He could have hardly made it any clearer. He was the Boredom brought to life. The worst part of it was that he knew exactly what she was going to give him –the same old stories she gave him the day before or maybe the day before that one. Something that wouldn't be very striking: he was "grown up now", he should " be more responsible", that she "didn't know what that was that made him so grumpy", but that –and it would go on and on and on. It reminded him of the times he used to mimic his mother's tirades, faking her high-pitched voice and reproachful tone. They'd often had such arguments when he did too much shit for her to take or when they both had a bad day. It usually made everyone laugh afterwards.

She turned around, not forgetting to let out a deep sigh while she was at it, implying as many things as she could in a second. Right before she reached the kitchen, Craig rolled on the side to face her and ask:

-Did we get any mail today?

That was a ritual question.

-No, we only got bills you don't give a damn for.

That was the ritual answer. Sometimes he wondered how many bills they got per month –many for sure.

You didn't get plenty of mail from Heaven-city, or maybe it couldn't be delivered from six feet under the ground. Tom was getting rolled over by a bus on the screen; he kept chasing the mouse anyway, as if nothing happened, slightly annoyed. His mother would have killed for a cat like this one. It was genius. The boy started to laugh frantically –really, it was pure genius.

He should have stopped asking that question and gone back to school, do something with his life. But no, he didn't do a thing. He looked after Karen, even though they weren't going out anymore and that it had always been kind of awkward between them when they still were. He kept in touch with his friends. Not doing any of that shit would sure have been the easy way out, but oh well. He still cared for his promises, even the dumbest ones. He didn't forget them. How could he? If the voices were already fading away, what would you be left with if you forgot the words they said? Not much, he knew the answer, it was crystal clear. He'd have less again than the little he ever had.

But at least he had TV. He could at least keep that.