***
When Mike’s eyes opened again, he was near the peak of a red plateau in the hot desert. The sun was huge and blazing down on him. Mike decided to climb some more, when he found a distinct feminine form at the tall, skinny plateau’s very top that glimmered brightly. Mike’s eyes widened at this form. He climbed the rocks with his hands to get a better view at the female who stared down at him. The higher he was, the more troubled her face seemed to look.
Mike sweated vigorously, hurrying up against the tall rocky scale until he finally reached the peak. The female form was blonde and beautiful, with a slender figure, but she was still distraught at something. Mike already knew who she was.
“Giselle...” he murmured.
“Mike, please,” Giselle said to him, “I can’t be with you. You’re so distant. I thought you’d soften up over time, but you never really talk to me. You’re always studying and fretting, and lately you’ve been yelling at me when I try to help you.”
“You can’t help me...”
“So you think! Y’know, I really thought you were sweet, but you keep letting your stress about your studies and your stupid fears get in the way. Why don’t you just get diagnosed before you fret over being a schizo.” She sighed. “God, it’s like you’re not yourself anymore. Y’know, the same guy who loves me.”
“I do love you...”
Giselle sighed, and responded, “Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing that.” She started to walk off. All Mike could do was whimper, “Come back!”
Giselle turned her head to him smugly and said, “Too late.”
Mike then had a primal urge to go after her. “No,” he growled, “not too late. Never too late.” He found himself following Giselle on all fours, with his blurring eyes focused on her standing at the edge of the plateau, ready to jump off. At that moment, Mike leaped at Giselle and pulled her back to him. Mike crouched in the center with Giselle in tow, but Giselle kept screaming and kicking him away. Finally, Mike had enough, and wrapped his paws around her neck, squeezing it to the point of crushing it. As the strangled Giselle struggled, a plethora of people staring at him rose up with disappointment. Mrs. Haversham and all his history professors hung their heads in shame. His father smirked at him. Mike let go of Giselle, knowing he had failed. He ran to the edge and jumped off the plateau yelling, not caring if he died. He had to abandon his now ruined life. He had to find a better life to live in. He had to sleep and be in bliss.
***
“Mike, Mike! Are you okay?” Mike faintly glimpsed at his mother in his bedroom. He was in the Nightmare World again, and the voice was telling him, “Go back to sleep! Go back to sleep!” The world where his insane father beat him for telling his mother that his father didn’t take his medication. The world where he had to keep studying or else fail and get chewed out. The world where he underwent reclusive and probably psychotic behavior, and lost his girlfriend for fear that he would harm her the way his father would harm him. That was why he had to avoid Giselle, because of what could happen, what he might do. Yes, he remembered everything now.
“Get out!” he barked. He was ready to scratch his mother’s face off.
The mother grabbed his hand. “Uh-uh, not this time!” his mother said, “I’m getting tired of this whole behavior.” Mike tilted his head at her while she continued: “This is really immature. You think you can get away from your problems like it were all some bad dream. Well, guess what? Life doesn’t work that way. So you made some bad choices. That’s tough. But you have your whole life ahead of you, and you can’t sleep on it or blame it on nightmares or the metal disorder you may or may not have. You have to take those failures and use them to better yourself without letting them depress you.” Mike tilted his head. These were words that he heard his mother say to him a lot lately, but the more she said these things, the more she sounded like...the female voice: “The damage you’ve done so far is repairable. You can go back to school, make up with Giselle, and get a proper diagnosis on your anxiety attacks. But you have to wake up first, and stay awake.”
The mother headed for the door. “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s just that...trying to sleep off your troubles is something that your dad would do.”
Mike stepped out of his bed and looked in the mirror. He looked pale and sickly, with stubble and long hair. But he knew he couldn’t be his dad. Mike’s head was still groggy. He didn’t really know what the right decision was. He still lived in Cambridge. Harvard was close by. Could he go back to class? Giselle’s self-named “crapartment” was downtown. Could he go back there? He had the number from a psychologist that his mother knew. Could he call that psychologist? Whatever answers were there for him, he knew he couldn’t go to sleep. Each dream he had made him remember his troubles even more, rendering him helpless. He knew he couldn’t sleep for the rest of his life, or dwell on history. He had to face the world, even if it meant not flying.
Mike stared at his bedroom door and thought about walking out for the first time in a week for a shower, a shave, and a late dinner. The time was 12:00 in the morning. Midnight. A new day.
He slowly took one small step to the door.
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