Under the sea, a volcano erupts around him, spewing lava and gases through the sea-mount. He feels no fear, as the temperature around him soars hundreds of degrees.
He watches . . . listless . . . as he sees the furious meeting of sea and fire create patterns of light and dark never before imagined, and never to be seen again.
A flick of his hand and the sea is gone, he stands now in a city, the building-canyons are miles deep, and the sun light a pale promise of a dawn that will never come.
A hiss is the only warning, and a monster from legend and myth attacks. He fights back . . . strangely. Without anger, or fear. Half halfheartedly.
The battle does not last long, and the monster feasts.
He twitches his hand again and stands before a sunset. The sky is painted purple and red and blue and orange. The clouds are wisps that whisper to the imagination.
As he watches the sun set, he remembers . . . and regrets. Tomorrow, he knows will be the same as today. Unique wonders, thrilling adventures, beauty to still the heart. All of it meaningless.
It is hard to think anymore. Hard to feel. The unending dream of his life saps the will, saps the heart, until it becomes tempting to just sit, and watch the sunset for however long it lasts, until there is nothing left of him.
NO!
He had been strong once! He had lived once! Sllooowwwwly his hand reaches up . . .
A wordless cry of protest comes from the others with him, each in their own dream. There are fewer then he remembers They do not wish him to do this.
With an oath he rips the head set off, the gloves, the wires and leads and tubes. . .
And looks in shock, at himself . . . at his . . . friends. . . at the gaunt skeletons scattered among the living, still tied to the dream long after their death. . .
He reaches for the still body beside him, and stops. She is still breathing . . . for now.
He can not free them. To rip them from the dream will kill them. . . just as surely as they are dying now .
” My name is Alex Sanders. I am alive.”
There is no answer. He doesn’t expect one.
Years pass.
He stands guard now, over the few survivors, checking nutrient lines, taking vitals, praying one day another will chose to break free of the dream . . . and exploring the world outside the room where he spent so many years.
It is a simple life, no monsters, and few grand sunsets. But it is his. It is real.