It starts with laughter. Late night food with friends that felt more like brothers. The boy sat down and enjoyed his confusing mess of green supper hearing laughter all the while. Next, a sip from what can only be described as the taste of a bleak and utter nothingness in its most otherworldly and metaphysical sense. He screamed in horror and fell to the floor. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a phone in a measly attempt to dial 911. His hands trembling and vision blurring as he dropped the phone. The boy’s friends stood over him snickering, endless snickering. “Help!” he screamed, “Help me!” But to no avail did anyone do anything for their now fallen brother. His eyes gave out. Later, sheer life, death, something in-between, anything, everything, and yet nothing did the boy feel. All was accompanied by a sound of ringing similar to the sound of the cicada buzzing of the night. An experience so completely ethereal one would kill to stay forever. Absolute ecstasy. In a plain white canvas covered world, monarch, the king of the butterflies flew through a nonexistent sky, fluttering up and down. “Where am I?” he wondered. “Where do I come from?” He traveled for some time though felt his wings getting tired. Soon he landed atop his own head and promptly died. Now a striking black outline in this empty white space, the boy stood. The ringing, now one with himself, spread throughout his entity in full, gathering at his two fingertips. The buildup radiated vigorously causing the fluctuation of various spiked waves to leak through. Finally he placed his fingertips to the side of his head, triggering terrifying awareness. Penetrating that layer of consciousness, he awoke.

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The boy sat up and looked around his dark room. There was a light through the crack of his closed door. He crawled out of bed and fell to the floor. He couldn’t feel his legs and tried to lift them but like heavy stones, they stayed put. His knees scraped against the hardwood floor as he dragged himself towards the door and outside his room. Just then, stretching his neck to reach the window, he saw a large black truck driving down the road towards him. He heard a voice behind him and an old strange man and a familiar looking woman came out of another door in what looks like the upstairs area of a house. “What's going on?” the boy asked. “You died for a second,” the woman said. “What?” he replied. He turned his head looking through the window and again and the car pulled up and came to a stop. “You better go son,” the man said, “Don't let them see you.” Looking at the truck once more, the doors opened and out came the old man and the boy himself. The boy stood up and ran to the room and grabbed a pair of pants that were laying in the middle of the floor. He put them on and went back out. There now stood only the old man. “I need to find someone,” the boy said. He ran downstairs and awoke once again.

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Morning rays peaked through the blinds and illuminated his face. He looked straight to the ceiling and felt his accelerated heartbeat, like the beating of drums. Getting out of bed once more, he went over to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, sunken eyes that fit more a man of 90 staring back at him. He could see the remnants of dried tears through marks streaming down the sides of his face. He brushed his teeth and washed his jet black unkempt hair then went downstairs. At the kitchen table sat the old man. He read a newspaper while sipping his dark black coffee. Without a glance he went, “Morning son, how are you?” “Fine dad,” the boy said. “Made yer breakfast, might wanna eat before you go. But be quick you can’t be late again Jasper.” On the table lay an assortment of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Jasper sat down and started eating. “How did you sleep?” There was silence in the air, Jasper looked down at his plate and continued to eat. “Son?” the old man said. “The same,” Jasper muttered.