Marisol entered her room, discarding her sweater and casually tossing it onto the bed.

Henry's anticipation grew, and he began to reach into his pants.

"Henry?" his mother's voice faintly echoed from upstairs. Despite her plea for help, he attempted to ignore it as he continued to pleasure himself discreetly. "Henry, please. The pain is unbearable. I can't take it anymore," she sobbed.

"God damn it!" He withdrew his hand and turned off the screen, hastily making his way upstairs.

Deborah, his mother, pressed her ear against the door until she heard footsteps approaching. She retreated from the door as Henry unlocked it and forcefully swung it open.

"What the hell do you want?! I'm tired of you constantly begging me for food! I'm busy," he snapped.

Deborah sat frozen in her chair, trembling with fear. Her hand shook as she weakly raised it towards Henry. "Hen..." "Move!" he demanded, forcefully pushing her aside and heading into the kitchen.

He grabbed a box of oatmeal and slammed it on the table. Then he took the milk out and combined them in a bowl. He grabbed a spoon and tossed it into the oatmeal. "There! Ya happy now?" he asked an overflow of irritation in his voice.

"Mmhm," she nodded, reaching for the spoon.

Henry's stomach growled. "Great, now I'm hungry too," he complained opening the fridge.

Aside from the milk, all he saw were eggs and some condiments. So he shut the fridge in frustration and picked up his phone. "I guess I'll order out then."

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His mother's face beamed with excitement, only to have her happiness crushed by Henry as he placed an order for a personal pizza and a Coke.

"H-how was school, Henry?" Deborah asked, her voice trembling slightly as he hung up. "I don't know, Mother. I didn't go, because I'm not an idiot," he emphasized as he took a seat across from her. "Oh," she stammered, her voice filled with fear. "I have better things to do with my time than to just sit there and get lectured by overly dense people," he added, his tone sending shivers down her spine. "Like... what?" she asked, her voice quivering.

As a psychologist, Deborah learned that people often felt better when they talked about themselves. And she thought that if she could get her son to vent a little, he might calm down and be less cruel to her. After all, she could feel that something was simmering in his twisted mind. And she was spot on.

Henry hadn't told anyone about his new invention yet and he was dying to talk about it. Even though he knew his mother wouldn't understand, he took the opportunity to let it all out.

"Well, since you asked, Mother. I've been working on a way to transfer a person's consciousness to another body," he said, with a mischievous grin. "You see, the next-door neighbor is dying," he told her.

Deborah's eyes widened in surprise and she stammered, "Henry, you mean... Your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend, mother. But she will be soon enough," he stressed. "And It's her dad that's dying, not her."

"Oh dear," she said, struggling to keep the oatmeal on the spoon, as she paused her eating. "What are you going to do to that poor man, Henry?"

Henry gave his mother a bothered look, "Why do you always assume the worst of me?"

Deborah wanted to scream, "Look at me!" Her legs were useless, and she looked so frail. But instead, she responded, "I'm sorry, Henry. I just thought that..." "I'm going to save him, Mother." "Huh?" Deborah was taken aback by his words. "You are?" she asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

Henry nodded, "Ever heard the tale of a man from the 1900s who woke up 2000 years later in someone else's body?" "No," she replied.

"That's what they call a consciousness trip," he continued. "The guy from the future was clinically dead for about 15 minutes, and the doctors cooled down his brain, managing to restart his heart. That's when the guy from the past entered a comatose state and his mind got transferred into the future guy's body."

"I'm not following, Henry."

"You see, Mother. Time isn't linear. Everyone's consciousness exists everywhere, all the time, simultaneously. There are people out there who feel like they're in the wrong body, and most of the time, they're right. In Mr. Medina's case, his body can't sustain him anymore. So I'm going to help him out. I've figured out how to shift consciousness on command," he said, with a proud expression. "All I need is a volunteer," he mused, rubbing his chin in deep thought.

Deborah carefully began to piece it all together and spoke up, "But in the story, the gentleman had to die first for that to work. How would you ever convince someone to make such a grave decision?" she inquired with a concerned tone.

"That's a valid question, Mother. But fret not, for I might just have the perfect solution" he responded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.