My father and mother reel back as my tails fold outwards from wrapping around my body. The horns shift towards their normal pattern before I gaze downwards. The tense moment of silence evaporates as my father cringes for a moment before he rasps out the words,

“Hmmm...Well...uh....You certainly look different.”

The strain and discomfort in my father’s voice cause me to shrink back before he inhales a deep lungful of air before he says,

“I expected you to look different after having your obelisk installed...We’ve heard about the rumors involved with using the units, but we just never expected such a dramatic change.”

My mother purses her lips before she says, “They never told us that you would look this different. They told us that you would look nearly the same except with slight shifts in the tone of your skin and the sound of your voice...”

I raise my palms towards them while my tails flow through the air like snakes writhing in slow motion. I say, “Most of what you see before you is the results of escaping The Fog. This isn’t a problem with my unit or anything of the sort.”

Both of their expressions freeze as their expressions and gestures stop mid motion. My mother whimpers, “You escaped The Fog? That’s how your unit was terminated?”

I lower my hands before I nod my head saying, “Unfortunately yes.”

I move three of the tails into a chair that I sit on while I use the other three for creating a spiral pattern over one of my outstretched hands. I allow the tails to shift as I say, “Their useful at least, and regardless of these-”

After a moment of deliberation, I hiss the word, “Deformities, I will never become anyone else but Pyrex. What happened to me there hasn’t made me a different person.”

My mother shakes her head before she says, “Oh dear, we never expected you to come back the same 18 year old boy who had just finished high school. We knew you would end up different. We knew you would change.”

I close my eyes for a moment before I say, “It’s a funny thing. I always tried to stay the same person after each battle...”

I lean against the edge of a armrest before I stare at a plank of the hickory floor as I say, “I would write in a journal while trying to keep track of all the differences between each entry. No matter how hard I tried though, I found the poison of battle eating away at my thoughts.”

Memories of hellfire and brimstone fill my thoughts as I murmur with the might of a soldier who’s seen the abyss of both man and demon alike,

“I found that the only thing that never changed was the chaos and death of each battle cause you see war-”

After a moment, I glance upwards at them as lean onto my knees with my fingertips pushing against one another like a church steeple. I say with my voice crashing against stone,

“War never changes.”

My mother maintains eye contact while my father lowers his gaze twitching his shoulders. My mother closes her eyes for several seconds before she meets my eyes saying,

“You’ve been through hell son. It’s easy to see that. I’m sorry we couldn’t be there for you then, but if you’d let us back into your life, we can be there for you now.”

My mother took speaking classes whenever she went to college before my father convinced her to start a bakery, but according to my grandparents, she always had a way of saying words that was compelling. The impact of her words now speaks volumes for that innate talent.

That talent causes her word’s warmth and fire to relieve me, so I say as I grin beaming the depth of my content, “If you would have this shambling thing as a son, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

My father clenches his jaw for a moment before he shakes his head saying, “Would you mind telling us how all this happened? I’m sorry for touching a delicate topic, but knowing how all this happened would help us help you, at least that’s what I would think.”

I bite my lip as I gaze at the sheen of white on a well polished table. After a recollection of thoughts I say, “It will be a long story...and crazy as hell to boot.”

He shows his own crooked grin as he says, “It can’t be much crazier than finding your son returning from the dead.”

I shrug my shoulders before I say, “I might disagree.”

I tell them the story while omitting the parts involving the graphic contact between Allure and I, and instead of disagreeing or showing disbelief, my mother stays silent while my father asks pointed questions at certain junctures helping me tell the story.

While my mother has a way with words, my father had the exact opposite skill - the ability to listen. His mind memorizes with an exact, razor sharpness that leaves almost everyone I’ve ever known in the dust. He asks questions relating to not only points he doesn’t understand, but for getting the general concepts of what I’m explaining as well as questions that transition the stream of conversation from one topic to another.

The effect causes even the longest of stories to finish at a rapid pace, so within 20 minutes, they understand the general idea of what happened with me and my new girlfriend Allure. This also accentuates my mother’s shock.

She was never the most open minded person, but this degree of explosive fantasy broaches on the limits of her ability to cope. They round each other out you see, and without my father voicing the right thoughts at the right times, my mother may have melted down midway through the story. 

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

They manage however. After the tale, I stand up saying with more than a meager measure of relief at their composed response,

“We should finish the bread before you guys tell me about what you think about the situation...It would be good to turn the thoughts over in your mind some. It’s a lot to take in, and to be honest, I’m struggling with accepting all of it myself.”

I raise my eyebrows as I say, “It’s nice to do something normal for a change anyway.”

My mother nods her head saying, “I can understand that...You’re dating a girl? Really?”

I roll my eyes as I say, “That’s what bothers you about the whole thing?”

She tilts her head while giving me a pair of evil eyes honed through years of training as she snaps back, “She could be your wife after all of this is over with you know. You can’t just ignore something that will stay with you long after you stop fighting.”

I lean my head against my hand as my elbow rests on the edge of my tail chair. I show a slight smirk as I say, “Of course of course...”

I lift myself for a moment before I jump from my chair saying, “Enough with all these discussions. Are you ready to be beaten at your baking?”

A look of absolute and utter confidence transforms my mother’s face from a concerned mothers to a fierce gladiator as she hisses, “If by beaten you mean showing you the infinite distance between us in baking, then sure.”

I squint my eyes as I lean forward saying, “If by distance, you mean you being at 0 and me being infinite, then I suppose I could accept that.”

She smirks as she raises her head till she gazes down at me saying, “If that were true, we would be measuring perfection starting at zero and higher scores as garbage.”

I look around for a moment scrambling for a comeback. That was a solid retort, but I only fumble for a second before I say, “Another man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Her smirk grows before my father walks between us saying, “Alright, let’s just reopen the store and start selling the bread you both cooked. I think a little work will help cool both your heads.”

My mother leans to the side saying, “My food’s always served warm. Your foods cold like revenge.”

I squint my eyes as I lean closer saying, “Of course it is. Revenge is best served cold. Unfortunately, just like all your other dishes, you never serve them at their best unlike mine.”

“Instead of serving emotions, I serve food that causes emotions. My food isn’t just the best at that time, it literally sets a whole new standard without comparison."

My father frowns as he says, “Both of your batches are going to be burned crisps if you don’t get them out soon.”

Me and my mother gaze at each other with our best stink eyes before a smile cracks onto both of our faces at the same time. We burst into laughter while my father rolls his eyes as he places his hands on our backs.

He says, “Come on now. Let’s go instead of practicing our witty banter.”

I frown for a moment as we walk into the back of the kitchen. I say, “It’s my favorite part of the whole experience. We get to make good food while flexing your mental muscles.”

My mother giggles for a moment before she punches the side of my father saying, “You just need to lighten up some. It’s all in good fun.”

He grimaces as he says, “That’s easy to say whenever you're the participant, but you’ve both fist fought each other over your verbal battles before.”

I roll my eyes as I say, “That was when I was twelve.”

My mother grins with a malicious glint shining from her eye as she says, “And I beat you then.”

I lift my gaze staring down at her as I point a tail towards her saying, “I’ve gotten a little better at fighting since then.”

She grins as she says, “And you still wouldn’t hit your mother would you?”

I frown as I lower the limb saying, “Bah...you got me there.”

We gather the bread before we reopen the store with me meeting customers throughout the day. With each new reunion, I reconnect with myself creating the life I left so long ago, and we let Micheal back out as I promise to tell him about the secret I told our mother and father. 

He was angry at his exclusion from the discussion until I offered to play in the forest south of town using my powers. Everything proceeds at a perfect pace as the grim air of earlier clears as the joy of reunion overcomes the grim reality of before until a woman with red hair walks into the store.

She wears a stunning red dress with a pale, spotless complexion causing the vibrant red of her lips and the fire of her hair to pop. Her powerful, commanding movements draw the eyes of all those around her while the sway of her hips raises the attention of even the females present.

If I was to describe her in one word, it would be fire. She radiated ferocity and passion. A pool of experience betraying her appeared age of lower twenties created a contrast in the steely glare of her eyes and the tempting figure of her body.

Despite all of her near innate attraction, I cringe as she walks up to the counter saying, 

“Did everything workout Pyrex?”

I hiss my words without moving my jaw, “Why are you here?” I whisper the last word, "Gorge."