With a start, he was roused from his peaceful slumber, back to reality once more. Groggily, he groped for the snooze button on his old clock radio. A sharp pain jumped up his arm as his hand came in contact with the contraption, temporarily muting its infernal noises. His eyelids fluttered slightly, apart from which he could be easily mistaken for a corpse. Today he wouldn't submit himself to routine, nor would he be enslaved by the impositions of others. What he did was to be entirely his own decision, beginning with ignoring the pleas of his radio for him to join the world. He rolled over disgustedly; the world could go on without him for a day. Mere moments passed, and there he was again, perched on a hill in paradise. He could see for miles, above the perfectly identical treetops, almost to the ocean that surrounded him on all sides. "It's beautiful," he murmured to himself, muffled by his sheets, barely audible. He wandered in a euphoric state, absorbing the essence of his pseudo-paradise. Nothing could go wrong here, no one ever ventured to his island, it was his and his alone. As he sauntered through the trees, he caught a slight glimpse of something, just out of the corner of his eye. Taken aback, he glanced around suspiciously, and then dismissed it as unimportant. He approached an apple tree and, settling beneath it, plucked one of the ripe fruit from its branches. Oblivious to all else, there was no way he could have noticed the serpent carefully coiling itself around his torso.

His eyes snapped open, fear filling him. The dream was all too real, but how had it happened? He was in control of his world, so where did this serpent come from, why had it invaded his world? He felt his forehead, which was incredibly warm, and doused in sweat. The entire encounter had been much too realistic for his liking. He had settled to eating a juicy apple from a tree in his forest, when he found himself entangled in the body of an angry snake. He had jumped up in fright, as it sunk its long fangs into his abdomen. He could still feel the piercing of the dagger-like incisors, the warm blood dripping from the newly created wounds. He touched his side; it felt sore as if he was actually wounded. He lifted the sheets to see they were slowly being rubified, and then everything turned black.

His eyes fluttered slightly as he regained consciousness. The night watch nurse jumped up and darted out of the room, leaving him alone for a few precious moments. She returned in haste with several doctors, who sat him upright in his small bed. How did he feel, could he move this limb or that one, was there any residual pain? He answered slowly and carefully; he knew what they were doing, and all he wanted was to get out of this nightmare. He told them he felt fine, nothing hurt anymore, even though his side was racked with pain, almost as much as in his dream. He didn't want their treatment, attention, or pity. Each was a usurper, using him to further their medical careers, not caring what it meant for him. Dismissing his pleas, they continued their delve into his condition, invading his personal space to break him. They wanted him to be in pain, so he hardened himself, became distanced from all reality. In this void, his tolerance was unprecedented. Eventually, they departed, dejected at their failure to find any problem with the patient. He was told he could leave after a couple of days of recuperation, and he lay back carefully, wincing as they turned to leave. The door shut with a small click, and he was left in peace. He idly wondered whether his parents would come see him, and burst out laughing. His laughing slowly became light sobbing as his side throbbed with pain. The thought of his mom and her new boyfriend in such an organized establishment, especially a hospital, was just too much. They'd met at his mom's work, a dirty bar, frequented by a myriad of society's rebels. He was just one of several prospects over the last year, and so far it seemed to be going well. She left her son alone, and in return, he asked no questions about her new guy. A good deal for both ends, as their relationship was purely obligatory acceptance that they were stuck together for a couple more years. When he turned eighteen, she could forget she even had a son.

Two days passed uneventfully, doctors appearing every once in a while, hoping to catch him in pain. But he obstinately refused to show any emotion; after all, the pain was going away. Slowly, but it was losing its original magnitude. Perhaps it was just that he had better mastered controlling it. In any case, he felt substantially less pain than before. Finally his sentence was lifted, he was free to go. With a slight limp, he half ran out of the building and flagged down a taxi. Panting, he collapsed in the back seat and directed the cabbie to take him to a nearby motel. He couldn't go home, not in his weakened condition, he wouldn't survive the night. Within a couple of minutes they reached his destination, he flung some money at the driver, much more than the till, and limped out onto the street. He slowly made his way to the entrance of the motel, and stumbled into the cramped lobby. He barely managed to reach the counter, his legs nearly giving out on him. Urgently he asked for a room, and dismissed the sign-in sheet - "I'll finish it later, I need to lie down," he told the young clerk. She handed him a small key, with the number A2, and the incomplete form. He grunted his thanks at her, and loped to his room. Pausing only long enough to remove his shoes, he flung himself onto the bed and fell asleep immediately.

He floated down from the clouds, in the direction of his Eden, but was rudely surprised. Where his paradise island had been, he found nothing but barren wasteland. He landed roughly on the charred ground, and looked around in horror. He could still see small remnants of his former arcadia, blackened stumps and small plants struggling to survive. He could see nothing of the fauna of the area, and he expected only the worst for them. Dropping to his knees, he began to weep for the plants, and the inhabitants. They were his only friends, and now he truly was alone. He clutched to his breast a blackened sphere, once an apple, his only link left to his former utopia. He rose slowly, and walked, as he once had, across the empty landscape. The sky forked with lightning, and he felt rain intermingling with the tears still streaming down his face. In the distance, he saw a green tendril emerge from the ground. He rushed to embrace it, to hold the last of his paradise, but as he approached he saw it was not what he had thought. Slitted eyes stared bloodthirstily at him, above long bleached fangs. He considered fleeing, but saw it was too late. The massive serpent was nearly upon him, it was too late. He knelt down, and accepted his fate.

Doused in sweat, the morning sun awoke him from his dismal encounter. It had been too close, and he knew all too well what would have happened had he not been awoken. As if on cue, a sharp pain shot up his side, to remind him of his last encounter. It seemed to be getting worse again, throbbing even more than before. Wincing, he sat up and prepared himself to leave. He couldn't just spend his day in bed; his money would run out in a couple of days; he had to find some sort of income, and quickly. He hobbled out of the small room with only one thing occupying his thoughts, a nice big meal. A check of the date on the way out told him he’d been asleep for nearly three days now. No wonder his muscles would barely lift him, they were severely out of use.

He barely made it to the restaurant across the street, stumbling to the counter. Resting, he pointed haphazardly to the first thing on the sign he thought was food. The surprised cashier quickly prepared his meal, and took the cash he had dropped idly on the counter. Without asking for change, he grabbed the food and seated himself. He quickly cleared his tray, and ordered another. Then another. Finishing his third, he disposed of his large pile of refuse and left the building. Satiated, he went in search of a bank. After withdrawing his meager savings, he began the walk back to his motel. Passing by an alleyway, he noticed a dirty man crouched in a corner. He sported what seemed to be a business suit, almost indiscernible beneath the grime.

Noticing the youth looking at him, anger engulfed the man's expression, convoluting an already grotesque face. He shouted to leave him alone, hoping to maintain some dignity in the process. But the young man didn't leave; he just approached the man, a pitying look on his face. "Come on, let me buy you something to eat," the boy suggested. Though it pained him to take such charity, he hadn't eaten all day, and felt he shouldn't turn down the hopeful youth. They soon found themselves seated at a table in a quaint café, the man inhaling as much food as he could, while the boy sat quietly drinking a coffee. The boy stood to return his mug to the counter, striking the table with his knee. A sharp pain shot up his side, and he limped to the counter. When he returned, the man had gone, no traces left. Confused, he approached a couple seated at a table nearby. Bewildered, they questioned him as to who he was talking about - they hadn't noticed anyone. But he wasn't listening anymore; he stumbled and dropped to the ground. Deliriously, he tried to sit upright and collapsed. After what felt to be an eternity, he heard sirens and hushed voices surround him. Screaming, he thrashed in their grip. He wouldn't go back, he'd rather die. His voice began to slur, then everything faded away.

He landed roughly on the charred ground, twisting his ankle. His eyes burned with the light, as if he hadn't used them in years. Tears streaming down his face, he rose to his full height, regarding the landscape around him. It was worse than he last had seen it. Fissures were barely discernible in the black, however deep they were. With a slight limp, he began to examine the area for any life. After what seemed like hours, he collapsed to the ground exhausted. He could no longer control his paradise, nor himself within it, for it now controlled him. Closing his eyes and crossing his legs, he sat and waited. A short period of time passed, but he knew it was only a matter of patience. Soon, he felt the ground begin to vibrate ever so slightly. A fissure began to open beneath him, but he showed no recognition. He held his body rigid, even as the ground slowly opened around him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, as heat rose from the pit. But he remained rigid, unmoving, suspended above a seemingly bottomless abyss. His concentration never wavered, though his body became weaker and weaker. Soon, the charred ground was barely even visible, only the lone figure which to the untrained eye could be mistaken for a statue. His gaze stared unblinkingly off into the horizon, seeing nothing but freedom.

"The machine must be broken," a doctor said, "call for a technician." The boy seemed in perfect health, still seemed to have a pulse. Every part of him emanated life, yet all that could be heard was an infernal, elongated beep.