Alexander Liljenberg

Nigel

A boy, in the upstairs attic of his home, is looking out the window. “Isn’t life grand?” He rhetorically asks himself. There are raindrops tracing down the window. As he sits there, holding his head up with his hands below his chin, he hears his mother call to him, saying that lunch is ready. When he begins to walk downstairs, he smells the casserole his mother has been baking. His father is pouring hot water from the electric kettle into three mugs. “What have you been up to, Nigel?” He asks. “Absolutely nothing.” He sighs.