The Weak Hero

Dream

The clock ticked across the room. Back and forth, it brought a soothing rhythm. The only thought on Nolan's mind was an impulse to smash it. Maybe it was an expectation that it would stop his anxiety. Anger and curiosity had intertwined for Nolan. Because of this unfit juxtaposition, nothing was as it seemed anymore. "Just fall asleep" he whispered to himself. But It seemed that the very desire for sleep would make it slip from his grasp. The irony. The absolute irritation. He rolled to his side, bringing the black wool blanket across his feet. The cold was miserable. His insomnia was even worse. The only consolation was a new day. A new cup of coffee. Maybe even a chance to fix things. But how could he? The very thought made him nauseous, he would seem to be a beaver attempting to build a concrete dam, and so he eyed the clock intensely. 11:59 PM, 38 seconds. What did it mean? His deprivation was playing tricks on him as always. He attempted to find meaning in trivial things. The random numbers, the decisions of others, the shadowy lurch across the room. He sat up, shifting his head to the corner of the room. The room was still. Silent. "Nothing," He thought, but the sweat trickling down his back betrayed him. The cold paranoia on his neck teased him, and fear and logic wrestled him to doubt. Insomnia was not a disorder, maybe for some it was, but for Nolan, insomnia was a vessel of the sinister. Nolan laid back down, easing his head slowly onto his foam pillow, it felt soft, and if you dove deep enough into Nolan's mind, you would find the peace that slowly began to emerge as it sank him into a slumber.

Nolan awoke. More specifically, Nolan awoke in a dream. Ever since Nolan was a boy, he could recall every detail of his dreams vividly, and he always knew from start to end, that he was dreaming. Most of the friends he told thought it was at most cool, but unimportant. Nolan began to suspect his strange condition might be responsible for his Insomnia in his early adolescence, although every doctor he saw disagreed. His grades suffered, his relationships too, but worst of all his insanity grew. In everyday life, his subconscious would seep over, and Nolan would find himself mentally stuttering to sift between what was real and not. Tonight's dream left him in an open field. The golden waving plains might have been barley or wheat, he was unsure. Something was strange about this dream. Nolan could not figure it out until he began walking. He yelped in pain. Nolan looked down and found himself barefoot, still wearing his inappropriate underwear, the Rub me for Luck pair. He lifted his stinging foot and found a small thorn protruding from the ball of his foot. Nolan yanked it out, and a bead of blood rose in its place. "What the hell?" Nolan said. He could recall feeling fear in his dreams, excitement, panic, and even depression at the thought of some of his good dreams coming to an end as the world spun into fractals around him before he would wake. He had never felt pain. He felt considerably warmer than he was before and began to step away from the thorny area until he stumbled on a clear path probably made by cattle.

The ground was worn and muddy, and small puddles of water filled the holes left by hooves. In the distance, Nolan could see the warm sun, blazing warmth upon his skin. It felt too real, and it made Nolan uncomfortable. He decided to do what he always does when he wants to wake up, the pinch. It was a simple tactic that had always served him well in nightmares. Nolan decided it was time to wake up. He pinched the skin of his hand between his thumbnails as hard as he could, focusing on the pain, and then... Nothing. Nolan was still standing, the same as he was before, except now he had a bright red mark on his hand. "That's a bummer," Nolan said. He wasn't too worried, after all, it was just a dream. There was no need to panic. Flashbacks of Nightmare on Elm Street went through his mind, and the concept of dying in the movie Inception made an appearance there too. "Ridiculous" Nolan said as he began walking away from the sun, towards what he thought was north. His feet started to hurt after a while, and he wished he had his flip flops. That gave Nolan an idea. He closed his eyes and imagined his flip flops appearing right in front of him with all his heart, and then slammed his eyes open in the anticipation of seeing them there. Instead, a small dog sat in front of him, its head tilted in confusion. Big bright blue eyes stared into Nolan, it barked at him, then turned and ran away.

"Hey!" Nolan yelled after it. The dog kept running away from him. Nolan was running, if you could even call it that. He limped through the thorns and innumerable pointy things that fields had to offer. Nolan stopped to catch his breath, something he had never done in a dream before, and for some reason, this particular thing worried him. "Who the hell thinks about stopping to get their breath in a dream?" Nolan wondered. He heard a short-lived yelp coming from the dog's direction. It was the sound the dog next door would make when the neighbor kicked him. Nolan ignored the pain and ran over, finding the dog and a rough-looking farmer. "Best keep yourself in the barn boy, you ain't got no good instinct," The farmer said to the dog, and then kicked him again. "There go my spit-shine you dumb dog!" the farmer shouted. The dog yelped, lowered itself to the ground, and stared at Nolan as he had before. "If your dog had a sense of humor he might shit on your boots instead, they'd be cleaner than whatever sewer you have in that mouth" Nolan said. The farmer apparently hadn't noticed Nolan because he pulled out a small revolver and shakily pointed it at Nolan. "Who the hell are you?" the farmer asked, none too kindly. "What are you doing on this here farm? There ain't no town for dozens of miles!" Nolan was suddenly shocked, as he was not very good at getting shouted at. "You got a few seconds 'fore your fertilizing this here farm!" He said, pointing his revolver up and down in a precarious manner. "Fuck, calm down sir! Stop waving that around" Nolan yelled, then suddenly remembered this was a dream and eased up a bit.

Nolan started laughing. The farmer's crazy eyes twitched. Nolan reigned himself in a bit and pointed at the farmer. "You're not even real!" Nolan yanked some of the wheat off a stem and smelled it. "But goddamn does everything seem real!" He began laughing again. The farmer began to look horrified, and Nolan suspected the farmer did not know how to cope with being the figment of a young teenager's imagination. "So you a crazy, that it?" The farmer pulled out a smartphone, which Nolan would not have suspected out of him. Nolan saw the farmer dial in three numbers. "Oh, shit," Nolan said, "You did not just call the police in my dream! You're the made-up one! You're the crazy fake concoction of my brain!" He said menacingly, as he walked up to the farmer. "You stay back now son! You stay back! I can't help a dead boy!" The farmer stepped back and cocked the gun. Nolan laughed again, holding his hand out and picturing electricity shooting out of his hand towards the farmer's gun. Nolan could always count on his creativity in dreams. When Nolan opened his eyes to see the bolt strike and knock the gun away, the world flashed white, and Nolan lost consciousness.