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Eighteen
EighteenStanding in the doorway to my apartment, everything appeared just the same as the day I left it. And yet, there was something…A coldness. Unfriendly, unwelcoming. Taking a breath, I stepped over the threshold. The house computer welcomed me with its usual sterile voice, asking me if I had eaten. I flopped down on the sofa and answered that I had, which was a lie, but I didn't care if it realised or not. Before me, across the wall, the hologram screen flickered into life and I waved my hand to select the channel I always watched at that time. My interest in history had been a constant source of amusement for Yolanda. However, my interest in ancient sport horrified her, believing it to be 'counter-productive', whatever that meant. Why did I find it necessary to watch grown men kick
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