"Shawn, get up!"
"5 more minutes dad...I can brush my teeth tomorrow.."
"Shawn that's disgusting, now get up!" Henry punctuated this with a kick to the couch in his living room that currently housed his sleeping 30 year old son.

Shawn blinked muzzily up at his father, trying to clear his blurry vision.

"Dad? Whatcha doin in myyy" yawn "-y room? And what shirt are you wearing? That thing is hideous, what did you skin a yak and dye it orange?"
"Shawn, for the last time, GET. UP! You are in my living room, it's 6 am and you need to start on the attic and I have to go. It's already later than I wanted to leave. Now up!"

Shawn shifted himself sleepily on the couch, now remembering that he had decided to sleep over last night after a few beers and the baseball game. He also remembered his dad saying something about cleaning out the attic, but nothing about doing it before the crack of dawn, I mean even the undead could probably still be roaming at this early hour.

"Dad, why do I have to get up so early? I can do it later at a reasonable hour, preferably after noon. You know my hair isn't perky until at least 12:30."

Henry reached down and yanked the pillow from under Shawn's head and watched in satisfaction as it thumped down onto the couch cushion.

"I am leaving to go fishing, you are going to get up right now and start on the attic. I want it done by the time I get back and it's going to take you all day to do it."

Henry gathered his tackle box and keys to his truck and slid his hat onto his bald head. He opened the door to step out, but stopped to address Shawn one last time before leaving.

"I will be back around 5:30 and we can grill up the fish I catch, I want those boxes cleared out, sorted and all of your junk
gone. You hear me Shawn?! So, get your lazy ass up and get to work!" And with that, his old man ended his statement with the door slamming shut behind him.

Shawn lay on the couch, slowly blinking and listened as his dad's truck roared away, headed towards the marina.


Shawn balanced one last box on top of the other two, before hefting them into his arms. He didn't want to spend the entire day lugging the boxes downstairs one by one. He still had to sort through them and do something with the stuff. Maybe if he just rearranged the boxes in the garage his dad wouldn't notice.

Man, that last box was heavy, some of the trophies from his childhood were on top and they made the box awkward to close completely. This made it harder to see where he was going. Shawn, yawned deeply as he started down the narrow attic stairs, his mind and body still sleepy from the lack of sleep.

As his tired mind slowly processed, as he stepped down on the third stair, his foot landed awkwardly, harshly twisting his ankle, sending pain ricocheting up his leg and pitching him headfirst down the steep stairs. He tumbled, unable to catch himself due to the heavy boxes which slid from his grasp and rolled down the staircase alongside his body. His foot caught beneath him and took the brunt of each step, the pain growing farther up his leg, until he hit the bottom. Before he could try to catch his breath, a sharp pain caught his temple and he slumped unconscious.