“Oh my God.”
I finished explaining everything from the cave to the battle above Earth. My mother looked at me like I had three heads during the entire rehashing of the tale. She tried to rebut it by using the words "hallucinogenic drugs" and "post-traumatic stress disorder", but no matter how many fancy medical terms she applied to my situation, there was one thing she couldn"t refute—the food producing box that resembled a microwave perched on the counter.
“Mom, I understand this is a lot to absorb but I need you to trust me. This is very important, I need you to book me a flight to New York.”
“New York? What the hell for?” She looked angry.
I took a step back. “What"s wrong?”
She stood up and moved toward the Sustanant. “You were gone for three months, we thought you were dead. Now
