The Dreams

His dreams became more vivid as time went on. That is, when he wasn’t struck with a sudden bout of insomnia and his mind spiraled out and down, attaching leg irons made of lead to his ankles that left him bedridden and bleary eyed. His mind would rebel and, before he realized it, he was telling himself stories in his head about the how and why of what he was enduring and before he knew it he was no longer focusing on what he was looking at. Everything was blurry and out of focus and he’d have to shake his head to realign the lenses and bring him back to the present, out of the daydream and into reality.

Reality was becoming an interruption rather than the normal course of things when he was left to his own devices which was quite often anymore. This became the most apparent when he woke up thinking that everything that had he had recently endured was just a dream. For a moment he was relieved because she was still there and he basked in that sweet anodyne for a brief moment. That is, until he checked his phone and was slapped in the face with the grim reminder of the truth and he laughed sickly at himself. He didn’t cry, though. He hadn’t shed any real tears since the night it happened. It had ceased being sad after he came to his senses and he had found himself laughing hysterically about it. Absurdity had that effect on him.

The most vivid of dreams he could remember was his crashing a cookout or gathering of some sort. The details became a bit fuzzy as they tend to do with dreams upon waking. What he did remember was approaching her and trying to get the answers to the questions he had been asking himself as his mind was careening down the highway of his imagination while he was trying to fall asleep. She avoided the tough questions and hid behind her anger much like he was used to. And then he saw him. In his mind he knew this was the reason, his replacement but it didn’t look like him. Instead it was some punk kid and he was extremely petulant. He couldn’t recall the conversation they had but he remembered the young lad throwing a fit when the case was presented to him and how opportunistic it was of him to do what he did. Just like in reality, no answers were to be given.

“You can’t stay in your apartment, you will sink and I don’t want to watch that happen,” his friend told him when she heard the news, tears in her eyes

The dreams at all hours both while awake and asleep were proving her right. Depression struck like an assassin while he was alone in his room and he had no way to escape. He felt like deadweight, the blankets strapped him to the mattress and he tried to sleep the day away. It never worked. He would lose track of time and with no one to talk to he started to feel like his brain was melting with the cacophony of thoughts that he would come up with. It was at the point where his sense of self-preservation kicked in that he would rattle his head and run from his room as fast as possible and go somewhere, anywhere but where the thoughts were not allowed to escape past the walls.

And yet his mind continued to reel.


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