Harold Kumar 3 Page

Harold sat in the dim glow of his bedroom, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Three months had passed since the Incident—that’s what his mother called it now, voice lowering whenever she said the words. Three months since he had accidentally broken the space-time continuum by sneezing into a microwave while trying to reheat leftover curry.

Harold sat down. His father sat across from him. The flamingo took the empty chair, folded its wings primly, and waited. harold kumar 3

His mother stood abruptly. “You’ve been gone four years. You don’t get to walk in here and talk about dishes.” Harold sat in the dim glow of his

“Reality is already broken,” his father said. “I’m asking you to help me tape it back together.” Harold sat down

A man stood in the hallway. He was tall, brown-skinned, with Harold’s same tired eyes and his mother’s sharp cheekbones. He wore a lab coat stained with something that looked suspiciously like starlight.

“You think?” Harold snapped. “You disappeared into a black hole—or so you said—and I’m the one with the weird thumb?”

“Harold, dinner!” his mother called from downstairs.