Last Night in the World

Dreams had always been more real than the waking hours to him. He reveled in their intimacy, their lack of control, the absence of expectation.

In dreams there were no whys, only whats, nebulous though they may be. There were only occurrences, which while they fed off prior incidents, did not need to be directly related. There was no cause and effect.

He longed for that simplicity. Dreams had no requirement of human interaction, something he struggled deeply with. He could never anticipate what waking people would say the way he could in dreams. Waking people disappointed, dream folk did not.

Pulling himself slowly from the cool sheets, he began to plot. Was there a way he could play all day with the dream folk, and avoid those who let him down?

Was there a place where laws were merely conventions? Flying above a room, filled with swimming pools, simply because you could? Where dream folk frolicked, pretending to be unaware of those around them?

He eyed the needle.

Perhaps tonight.