Benny stood by his bed, ten years old and restless. He reached for the tall glass of milk on the nightstand. His elbow bumped it hard. The glass tipped over with a loud clink.
The white liquid spilled across the rug. Benny leaned down to lick the last drop from the floorboards. It tasted strange. Blue sparkles shimmered on his tongue like tiny stars.
He tried to stand up quickly. The wooden chair beneath him snapped instantly. Splinters flew into the air as he stared at his hands in disbelief. They felt heavy and hot.
Benny stepped toward the doorframe to escape the room. He pushed gently against the wood. Instead of stopping, he walked right through it. A perfect outline of his shape remained in the door.
Dust motes danced in the sunbeam streaming through the new hole. Benny looked back at the hallway. A towering bookshelf blocked his path. He decided to move it aside easily.
He leaped forward to grab the shelf. His fingers touched the bottom edge. With a deafening crash, he hurled the entire unit into the next room. Books and papers exploded outward.
The crash echoed through the house. Benny sat quietly on the floor amidst the wreckage. He picked up a single fragile teacup from the debris. He held it carefully without crushing it.
The silence returned to the room. Only the ticking of the clock marked the time. Benny watched the dust settle slowly. A gentle new normal had begun.