I awaken to nothing but pitch black. A dull light hones in on a single object, a mirror. I look into it seeing my former, better self. It bids me to come closer with open arms.

The glass shatters as I lift my hand longingly. Nothingness immediately returns.

“You deserve this,” a voice echoes in the distance. “You’re a monster,” it accuses me. The voices multiply, repeating the same empty messages.

“Who are you?” I shout at the voices.

They cackle and laugh and tear me apart. “We are you.” They begin to laugh uncontrollably. It soon dies out.. emptiness returns once more.

The next thing I know I’m falling endlessly. It carries on for so long I can hardly remember who I once was or when I began to fall.

“What a strange dream…”

I get ready for the day as I always do. I take my medicine first-thing, it’s become so habitual at this point I don’t even think about it. Then, I take a hot shower, followed by warm, clean clothes. While I would normally just throw on whatever, today I was headed to my most cherished place in the whole world: the library.

The experience is less welcome than I wished it to be. I browsed around the massive columns, doing my best to avoid encounters with the numerous other people. It was usually so quiet and empty. In the end, I picked up a what appeared to be a promising novel and headed home.

The moment I return home I know something is off. On the outside, everything appeared to be normal. It was more along the lines of I could feel that something was off. The same feeling from my nightmare ominously returned when suddenly a man tapped on the back of my shoulder.

I swiveled around in utter trepidation, gaping at the eccentric man before me.

“My name is Mr. Michael and boy do I have a deal for you!” the man in white shouts, oblivious to the fact he just caused me to have an outright panic attack.

“Not interested,” I slam the door and immediately lean against it, suddenly out of breath.

“It’s not so easy to get away,” a monotone voice greets me in a black suit. He’s blocking my way into the apartment and the man in white is right behind that door. I’m now sweaty and motionless.

“The name is Mr. Damone,” the man in black informs me just as the man in white pops his head out of the hallway and waves erratically.

“What are you?” manages to escape my quivering lips.

“Angels, of sorts. That’s not entirely important. The point is we’re here to help you,” the man in white takes charge of the situation.

“Help me?” I ask, “I don’t even know who you are.. and, angels don’t exist..”

“You hear that Mr. Damone? We don’t exist, we can be on our way.” The two of them disappear instantaneously.