The sun enters through my bedroom window, my eyes open slowly as I stretch in bed. I look at the alarm clock on the desk and get out of bed, heading to the bathroom for my morning shower. It was Sunday and a beautiful day. I go down the stairs and head to the kitchen; the house was strangely silent, perhaps because there was no sign of my parents at home. When I approach the refrigerator, there's a note stuck to it with rounded letters.

"Don't wait up for us"

I laugh at my father's explanatory note, probably Caleb had written it, without much explanation. My father is the type who doesn't talk much about things or give many explanations; he's direct and hates beating around the bush. I grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and head to the stairs to return to my room when the doorbell rings.

I glance quickly at the door and think about whether to answer it or not. The doorbell rings again. I sigh with curiosity and with the possibility that it could be something really important, so I go to the door and open it without even looking through the peephole—what if it was a Jehovah's Witness asking me if I was afraid of death?

It was almost eleven at night, and I was alone in the living room watching a horror movie when the doorbell rang. I roll my eyes and ignore it, then it rings again. I sigh once more, grumbling quietly about why the hell my parents bought such an annoying and loud doorbell that sounds more like the bells of Notre Dame Cathedral. Then once more, the damn doorbell rings insistently, so I get up, throw the blanket on the couch, and head to the entrance.

I wasn't in a good mood, and I just opened the door. There were two women standing there. Both wore long skirts, had irritating smiles on their faces, and carried Bibles in their hands. Nothing against preaching, but what the hell is someone doing this at eleven at night? Don't you have a life?

"Good evening, how are you?"

"Good for whom exactly?" I grumbled.

"Excuse me?" she asked with a slightly awkward smile.

Only then do I remember that I'm wearing only white boxer briefs that outline the crown jewels, and by the wide-eyed looks of both women, I think they've never seen something like this, or... Anyway... They could preach to me in that state or, in the best-case scenario, they would leave, but to my misfortune, one of them cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Are you afraid of dying?"

"No."

They looked at each other and gave a skeptical smile. I looked at both of them with the most serious face in the world, waiting for them to argue. Usually, most people would answer that they are afraid, but who the hell is afraid of dying when it's the greatest certainty in our lives?

"When you have an argument and stop looking at my body, you can come back."

And then I closed the door behind me and went back to sit on the couch to continue watching my movie.

Frankly, I was hoping it wouldn't be them with arguments, because I was again only in underwear, and this time it was black, which better concealed what I had. By the way, I hope God isn't angry with me; I used the expression "what the hell" too much in this short narration. Which reminds me of something else, but the doorbell rings again, and I remember what I was about to do.

I opened the door and found myself facing a blonde woman who was standing a few steps from the door with a simple smile on her face. She wore a white lace dress and a floral vest, her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, and her blue eyes were focused on me.

"Have Jehovah's Witnesses finally gone to Fashion Squad?"

She gave a slight smile.

"No, I'm not a Jehovah's Witness. I'm Angelina Cyrus." She extended her hand.

I shook her hand; my mouth must have been half open with the statement she had just made. She let out a little laugh, and I shook my head, pulling myself out of that moment where I was acting like a retard.

"You're not related to Miley Cyrus, are you?"

She laughed again. So I must either look like a clown or I am one because I've never seen a woman laugh so much at me like she does.

"No, not that either. Actually, I came here to invite you to have lunch with me."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, is that a problem for you?"

She spoke with that Umbridge face from Harry Potter. For a moment, I visualized her short, plump, and all dressed in pink. How horrifying!

"You're not going to make me drink anything, right? No doping agents or anything like that?"

Laughter.

"I definitely feel like a clown," I mumble.

"So, do you accept?"

"Of course, I'll just change."

I look down, and she follows my gaze.

"Oh my God," she says, embarrassed.

I scratch my head and laugh, embarrassed.

"Just a minute." Then I close the door behind me and run up the stairs.