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Well I wrote this one for an english assignment last year, my last year of high school. It doesn't reflect upon anything in my life, just the assignment was to write a short story involving Interpersonal relationships, and how it affects some one with an abundance or lack of it. Like all my stuff, critique is wide open.


They sat apart from one another separated by an oak desk, with unarranged papers strewn across the tabletop in an oddly-lit room. He began to explain.
“He has been dreaming for quite the time, no?” He was a fan of rhetorical questions. She cannot respond.
“In Layman’s terms Misses Dackay, he can conjure worlds unknown, worlds all to his own in his mind at night, harbored by deep sleep and a thought process keen to his surroundings”
“What do you mean, Doctor?” She retorts, more like a demand for an answer than a question.
“Simply put, he is coping with his harsh realities. Failed friendships and love reborn, in his world incarnate to provide the comfort he so longs in reality. It is a harsh truth, but I believe your thirteen year old son, Sebastian, has made the choice to live his reality in a world non-existent, rather than the world God, or whomever, provided us with.” His tone is unnerving yet serene, a sentence whose sad truth contradicts the tone in which it was said. Hazel Dackay could not respond yet again. She conjured half-put sentences in her mind, but then forcefully mustered a question.
“Well, what do I do then?” She was frazzled; the room’s dim lights seemed to reverse the synthesizing process, absorbing energy from her. The Doctor looked at his watch with a forged frown. The wrinkles on his aged face created fissures and voids that seemed deeper and darker than his dismal answers. This detail is all she could focus on as he began to speak.
“I am truthfully sorry can’t you see? Our time is up. Next time we meet I will give you the answers you so desperately seek, Misses Dackay.” She opened her mouth, but it froze an inch open. She abruptly stood up and began to walk out the door, manners shoved aside as she left without pushing the chair back slightly underneath the desk, and without a formal goodbye.

Enter Sebastian

“Uh oh, looks like its time to go back. I can hear her calling me.”
“Don’t you dare worry. You’ll come back, and when you do, I’ll be right here, waiting for you!” Her cheerful tone echoed happiness and splendor throughout the corridors of the faculty building. It was a solid concrete building with wide gaping windows letting the warm crimson orange light from the outside pour in, overflowing the corridor and spilling back out the windows again, a continuous cycle of refreshing light that replenished itself so to never get stale.


“I’m up I’m up I’m up…” I said to myself just as my mother entered my domain. She stood there aloof, as if she has been yelling for me for longer than a period of time she felt comfortable with. Without another word she stepped away and left for downstairs. I arose as well, emerging from the escape pod that leads to the other world, to my happy world. To the world I feel safe, I feel loved and I feel free. I think this to myself every morning, a ritual, like my own pledge of allegiance to my utopia. I head downstairs to the kitchen where I anticipate my mother is waiting for me. My goal is to eat breakfast, not to see her. As I enter the vicinity and take a seat in front of an empty bowl with a spoon resting inside, a cereal box of some commercial brand, and two percent milk, she begins to converse, or lecture; I can’t decide which one it is.
“The doctor tells me you live in your own fantasy world. He tells me you live in it to cope with your shitty surroundings. Is the life I give you not good enough?” This is a rhetorical question. She says this with such detestation and rage that I cringe. I admit it to myself for the first time, I loathe her. She continues speaking but her words flow above and over my head.

The day is over, school was a lonely bore and I think to myself while lying in my escape pod,
“If only I could live in my world for ever. Maybe I’ll ask my friend when I get there...”
My eyes are shut closed, I am not tired, and rather than drift off into sleep, I meditate. The red and green droplets on the pitch black background of my eyelids begin to make my head fluster. My escape pod brings me to my other world.

I’m walking on a street I’ve never been on before. Trees align the borders and jut outwards, leaning over the top creating a canopy of leaves and branches, shielding me from the drizzle of light rain from the cloudy, purple and gray blend of coloured sky. The street lights are a golden yellow, which in turn reflects elegant crooked lines on the wet pavement. The air is slightly humid, cool and smooth. As I breathe in, it tenderly slips down my throat caressing my respiratory tubes. At the other end of the short street stands my best friend. His name is Paxton, just like the one I know from school in the world opposite of this, except in this world now he is pleasant. He is loyal to me, and always considers how I feel about anything. He whispers in my ear and I nod. I am half awake; almost sleep walking when I arise from my escape pod once more. I tread silently to my mother’s purse of belongings. I snatch her medical bottle she picked up on her way home from my doctor’s office. I lie back down in my escape pod and begin devouring the numerous and minuscule pink pills as I begin to imagine what my friends are up to. They are holding a huge party for me, and I feel so loved, so calm and tranquil. The smile on my face lights up my room. I close my eyes and begin to fall into a peaceful slumber, an eternal dream that lasts for the rest of reality.

Yes, I can understand what you mean. He kills himself in the end, almost subconsciously. And I've been through something like this before. I think dreams really describe your true feelings.