His dreams were magical, spellbound travels through unbelievable and mysterious worlds. He woke exhausted each morning wondering what had taken so much out of him. All he had were vague memories of stars, planets, rooms, mazes. What was real and what wasn’t real? He didn’t know.
He drifted through his life looking for answers, but never finding any. He was most comfortable when he laid his head on the pillow and opened his eyes to another world. Perhaps many other worlds.
Our world was not what he wanted. Our world could not match his night world. He knew he would be better off forgetting everything that happened in his dreams but sometimes those things seemed more real to him than anything.
One day he decided he only wanted to exist in his dreams after all, and the people who came and tried to wake him from his deep slumber did not succeed. He was in a coma, the doctors said. They didn’t know why or how this had happened.
In his hospital bed he lay stone still but still breathing and still alive, travelling at infinite speeds through galaxies and star systems that seemed endless and so much more real and believable than anything he had ever witnessed.