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Description
Sleep without Dreams

Darkness, that was what surrounded him. An eternal darkness without the faintest speck of light. A soulless void that streached out eternally in all directions and swallowed everything that had ever existed.
Who was he?
He could remember that his name was Samuel, Samuel Tyler. His mother had named him after the archangel. She believed it had some kind of special meaning or something.
***************
Where was he?
The darkness around him would not answer him that, nor could any of his senses. It was as if someone or something had shut off the parts of his brain that controlled his sense of sight, smell, taste, hearing, and touch.
Why was he here?
Sam tried thinking back, trying to remember. He reached as far back as he could, trying to grasp the earliest memory that would give him even the faintest clue as to where he was, why he was there, and what had happened to force him into this state.
The day had started quite typically. Sam could remember the buzz of his phone alarm going off. He had it set to wake him at seven in the morning. From there his usual routine started:
First he would groggily grab the phone and switch it off, then fumble around for his glasses. After that, he would rummage around in his draws for clothing. That day, aside from black boxers and socks, the seventeen-year-old grabbed the "HIM" T-shirt he had bought Hot Topic a few weeks back. He remembered thinking 'Jeans will do for today', grabbing a pair that hung over the chair in his bedroom.
Out the door, a swift turn to the left, and down the hall into the bathroom for a shower, the next part of his morning routine. After closing and locking the door, he had dumped the clothing in his hads onto the floor, then stripped, and opened the shower curtain. The icy cold water hit him like a tombstone. He jumped back, keeping a hand under the spray till the water finally became lukewarm. A full body rinse and a hair wash later, it was time for a trim. Sam kept his chin clean, making sure there wasn't a single whisker on his face. It was the same reason he kept his brown hair short: the less there was, the easier it was to take care of.
He had gotten dressed and dumped his old clothes into the hamper, just as he did every morning before going back to his room. Sam had then retrieved his keys from his dresser and pocketed his phone. So far, everything was the same as every other morning.
****************
'What next?' the boy thought.
He could remember going down the stairs for breakfast; his mother and sister were already there eating.
"Good morning, Hun," his mother had greeted him, looking at him with the same green eyes he had. She held a spatula and was waiting for the little red light of the waffle iron to go off, indicating that another part of breakfast would be done.
"Would you like chocolate chips in your waffles?"
"Mom," he remembered saying as he grabbed a plate and pushed some already made waffles onto it, "I am not a kid anymore."
"Doesn't make you too old for chocolate chips," his blond, sister chimed in, busily working on her breakfast.
"Shut up, midget," Sam grumbled as he grabbed the butter dish and spread some of the product onto the stack of his checkered breakfast material in front of him. His sister was looking at him with her pouting face. The strawberry jam on the waffle slice speared on her fork was ready to drip onto her white blouse or blue skirt.
"I'm not short!" she yelled "You're just bigger than me!"
"That still makes you a midget then," Sam could remember himself replying as he poured syrup onto his stack. The thick sap product glistened in the morning light as it dripped ove the edges of the fluffy disk and pooled on the plate.
"Sam, stop teasing your sister," his mother interrupted. She had come over to the table with another stack of waffles. "And Lisa, wipe your mouth. You have strawberry jam on it."
Sam was busily cutting up his waffle stack, folding each slice in half with his fork before shoving the morsel into his mouth.
"Sam! For hevan's sake, take smaller bites!" his mother yelled at him, critisizing him like she always did.
Sam swallowed. "I'm not going to choke, mom stop nagging." He remembered her giving him a stern look.
"Don't you take that tone with me young man, I can still put you over my knee and give you a good spanking." She waved her finger at him threateningly.
'I would like to see you try' he remembered thinking at the time, but had replayed with the standard, 'yes, mom' instead.
"Hey, squirt," Sam said as he finished off his meal, "hurry up, or I woun't give you a ride." He remembered seeing her try to shove a whole waffle into her mouth at that point.
Sam had gotten up and walked over to the front door. The closet with his families coats and shoes was to the left. He remembered opening it, just as he always did, and taking his shoes from the drawer where they rested. They were simple gray sneakers, but they would do for today. He didn't grab a coat, must not have been very cold out.
Sam remembered opening the door and heading out into the driveway, right for the silver Honda that he drove. He had unlocked it and then turned to see his twelve-year-old sister hustling to catch up, a red backpack in her arms.
*******************
Was he in this position because they had hit something on the road?
No, the trip had been a smooth and safe one, as far as he could remember.
The drive from home to her middle school was a quick one, nothing really special. It was only four blocks south from where they lived, and the trip was very routine. The deer roadkill was still in the same spot it had been for the last five days: right on the southwestern corner of the four-way intersection halfway between their house and the school. Sam was sure no one would ever bother cleaning it up.
Like always, he made a left to get into the parking lot for his sister's school.
"Have fun with the rest of the dwarf army!" he had called as Lisa got out of the car and headed towards the square brick building. He knew the remark would get on her nerves, but that was why he said it. Sam simply could not resist teasing Lisa about being a foot -and-a-half shorter than he was.
A U-turn and a little waiting later, the boy was already on the way to his school. He didn't look forward to it. In fact, he never looked forward to it. The place wasn't bad per say. Sam just hated the people who ran it and many of the students who attended it; but mostly, he just plain hated the policies.
******************
He remembered thinking about the policies, and how much he hated them. The main reason Sam wore jeans more often than Tripp pants was because of that stupid dress policy. For some dumb reason, chains were forbidden in the school. Granted, he could understand not allowing people to carry around the thick ones used to hold up iron bars, but what stupid lawyer had weaseled his way in and added the ban on decorative chains?
If one wanted to beat someone with those, it would take seveal minutes to unfasten them! If you were in a fight, your opponent would most likely have beaten you to a bloody pulp already. Heck, to be honest, a pencil would probably be just as dangerous.
But this was North Hamelten, a place known for it's dictator-like principal. Sometimes he wondered why 'pal' was even part of the word when generally, they were everything but. Dr. Malcom ruled the place with an iron fist. If anyone so much as sneezed on their textbooks, the disciplinary comitee would already be there with sanitation wipes and a detention slip. Eveyone hated Dr. Malcom's guts, especially since he lacked any form of compassion and humor.
One time, someone had donated a deer statue to the school because the stag was their mascot. Malcom had decided that the buck's balls were too big and proptly neutered it with a hacksaw.
But Sam remembered pushing all those thoughts aside as he turned into the road that led to the back parking lot. Ahead loomed the squat brick building that almost looked like a prison; how fitting. Sam swiftly pulled into an open space and parked. He recalled reaching into the back seat and retrieving his gray backpack, heavily laden with papers. It had been left there from last night.
*********************
The boy remembered getting out of the car and going into the school, the halls crowded with the same filth that always crawled around with it's heads obideantly bowed. Through a set of double doors, down one hallway, one left turn, down another hallway, and a sharp turn to the right; this was the road to Sam's locker that he took every day. After that, it was a matter of finding his locker, number 144, entering the three digits on the built-in twist lock, pulling the door open, and depotisitng/withdrawing the books that would be needed for today's lessons. It was a practiced he performed every day.
"Lessee," Sam remembered saying to himself, "Gym -- Math -- English -- History -- Art -- Lunch -- Spanish -- Science. The gym is over there, so I should leave everything here and and come back for it." It was a logical course of action, and moments later, Sam recalled walking into the men's locker room.
He could remember this slightly warm and salty air digging into his nostrils. sometimes he wondered if anyone even bothered to clean the lockerrooms. They always smelled the same: full of sweat and deodorant. Several other guys were already there in various states of undress.
Sam remembered hurrying over to his gym locker, switching his jeans and shirt for exercise clothes: a white shirt and some long-legged sweat pants. It really didn't matter what time of year it was, Sam disliked wearing shorts. It was one of the main reasons he liked weaing Tripp pants: they were big enough to wear a second set of pants under in the winter, and baggy enough to allow air to circulate in the summer. Shame they were banned at the school.
Sam remembered the gym class that day being quite ordinary: first, it was pull ups. The teacher, a fit man named Mr. Roman with short brown hair, pushed them to try and reach and/or exceed their maximum. Sam's limit was fifteen in a row. Then came push ups, crunches, twists, sit-ups, and numerous other warm-ups. The run was next, one large lap around the school and into the tennis court. They were playing there today.
Had this darkness been caused by a blow to the head from a tennis ball? No, Sam didn't recall anything like that happening in class. Actually, he remembered winning two of the three games they played that day. He had moderate success when it come to sports.
*********************
After gym he had re-dressed, applied his deodorant, and stopped by his locker. Sam was then on his way down the hall to Math. Bah, quadratic functions, yuck. English was just as bad: more vocabulary he probably would never even use. Then came History, with more dates of things he could care less about. Art followed. He actually liked that class since jewelry making was a nice pastime. What did he have for Lunch? Ah yes, pizza and tator tots with an apple on the side and a Pepsi.
Another stop by the locker, and it was off to Spanish. Why did he need another language? 'We're in America dammit!' he remembered thinking 'Why can't everyone just speak English?'
Finally it was Science, the last class of the day. He remembered they were working in the lab today, some experiment imvolving turning pennies gold. Ah, yes, that's what it was. Yes, it was all coming back to him now:
His partner, a scrawny blond boy named Sayer, had just filled the beaker with water. Their experiment called for mixing powdered Zinc with a Sodium Hydroxide solution and heating it nearly to the boiling point. Sadly, Sam had been reviewing the work handout just as his partner added the Sodium Hydroxide tablets to the water without mentioning it. That idiot should have known better, since the teacher said that Sodium Hydroxide reactions produce a lot of heat! Not to mention the fact that Sayer had added too many tablets. Sam had reached for the beaker without knowing how hot it had become, burning his hand as a result.
Sam could remember starling, leaping back, and somehow falling backwards as he tripped over something. He must have hit his head and blacked out as a result. That's why it was dark! He must have suffered a concussion or fallen pretty hard.
'So this is what being in a coma feels like,' the youth mused 'Just plain darkness. I wonder when I am going to wake up. I really wish there was something here other than the darkness. I wish the darkness would go away. Oh well, it's not like I can cast magic missile at it.'

Description
Sleep without Dreams

Darkness, that was what surrounded him. An eternal darkness without the faintest speck of light. A soulless void that streached out eternally in all directions and swallowed everything that had ever existed.
Who was he?
He could remember that his name was Samuel, Samuel Tyler. His mother had named him after the archangel. She believed it had some kind of special meaning or something.
***************
Where was he?
The darkness around him would not answer him that, nor could any of his senses. It was as if someone or something had shut off the parts of his brain that controlled his sense of sight, smell, taste, hearing, and touch.
Why was he here?
Sam tried thinking back, trying to remember. He reached as far back as he could, trying to grasp the earliest memory that would give him even the faintest clue as to where he was, why he was there, and what had happened to force him into this state.
The day had started quite typically. Sam could remember the buzz of his phone alarm going off. He had it set to wake him at seven in the morning. From there his usual routine started:
First he would groggily grab the phone and switch it off, then fumble around for his glasses. After that, he would rummage around in his draws for clothing. That day, aside from black boxers and socks, the seventeen-year-old grabbed the "HIM" T-shirt he had bought Hot Topic a few weeks back. He remembered thinking 'Jeans will do for today', grabbing a pair that hung over the chair in his bedroom.
Out the door, a swift turn to the left, and down the hall into the bathroom for a shower, the next part of his morning routine. After closing and locking the door, he had dumped the clothing in his hads onto the floor, then stripped, and opened the shower curtain. The icy cold water hit him like a tombstone. He jumped back, keeping a hand under the spray till the water finally became lukewarm. A full body rinse and a hair wash later, it was time for a trim. Sam kept his chin clean, making sure there wasn't a single whisker on his face. It was the same reason he kept his brown hair short: the less there was, the easier it was to take care of.
He had gotten dressed and dumped his old clothes into the hamper, just as he did every morning before going back to his room. Sam had then retrieved his keys from his dresser and pocketed his phone. So far, everything was the same as every other morning.
****************
'What next?' the boy thought.
He could remember going down the stairs for breakfast; his mother and sister were already there eating.
"Good morning, Hun," his mother had greeted him, looking at him with the same green eyes he had. She held a spatula and was waiting for the little red light of the waffle iron to go off, indicating that another part of breakfast would be done.
"Would you like chocolate chips in your waffles?"
"Mom," he remembered saying as he grabbed a plate and pushed some already made waffles onto it, "I am not a kid anymore."
"Doesn't make you too old for chocolate chips," his blond, sister chimed in, busily working on her breakfast.
"Shut up, midget," Sam grumbled as he grabbed the butter dish and spread some of the product onto the stack of his checkered breakfast material in front of him. His sister was looking at him with her pouting face. The strawberry jam on the waffle slice speared on her fork was ready to drip onto her white blouse or blue skirt.
"I'm not short!" she yelled "You're just bigger than me!"
"That still makes you a midget then," Sam could remember himself replying as he poured syrup onto his stack. The thick sap product glistened in the morning light as it dripped ove the edges of the fluffy disk and pooled on the plate.
"Sam, stop teasing your sister," his mother interrupted. She had come over to the table with another stack of waffles. "And Lisa, wipe your mouth. You have strawberry jam on it."
Sam was busily cutting up his waffle stack, folding each slice in half with his fork before shoving the morsel into his mouth.
"Sam! For hevan's sake, take smaller bites!" his mother yelled at him, critisizing him like she always did.
Sam swallowed. "I'm not going to choke, mom stop nagging." He remembered her giving him a stern look.
"Don't you take that tone with me young man, I can still put you over my knee and give you a good spanking." She waved her finger at him threateningly.
'I would like to see you try' he remembered thinking at the time, but had replayed with the standard, 'yes, mom' instead.
"Hey, squirt," Sam said as he finished off his meal, "hurry up, or I woun't give you a ride." He remembered seeing her try to shove a whole waffle into her mouth at that point.
Sam had gotten up and walked over to the front door. The closet with his families coats and shoes was to the left. He remembered opening it, just as he always did, and taking his shoes from the drawer where they rested. They were simple gray sneakers, but they would do for today. He didn't grab a coat, must not have been very cold out.
Sam remembered opening the door and heading out into the driveway, right for the silver Honda that he drove. He had unlocked it and then turned to see his twelve-year-old sister hustling to catch up, a red backpack in her arms.
*******************
Was he in this position because they had hit something on the road?
No, the trip had been a smooth and safe one, as far as he could remember.
The drive from home to her middle school was a quick one, nothing really special. It was only four blocks south from where they lived, and the trip was very routine. The deer roadkill was still in the same spot it had been for the last five days: right on the southwestern corner of the four-way intersection halfway between their house and the school. Sam was sure no one would ever bother cleaning it up.
Like always, he made a left to get into the parking lot for his sister's school.
"Have fun with the rest of the dwarf army!" he had called as Lisa got out of the car and headed towards the square brick building. He knew the remark would get on her nerves, but that was why he said it. Sam simply could not resist teasing Lisa about being a foot -and-a-half shorter than he was.
A U-turn and a little waiting later, the boy was already on the way to his school. He didn't look forward to it. In fact, he never looked forward to it. The place wasn't bad per say. Sam just hated the people who ran it and many of the students who attended it; but mostly, he just plain hated the policies.
******************
He remembered thinking about the policies, and how much he hated them. The main reason Sam wore jeans more often than Tripp pants was because of that stupid dress policy. For some dumb reason, chains were forbidden in the school. Granted, he could understand not allowing people to carry around the thick ones used to hold up iron bars, but what stupid lawyer had weaseled his way in and added the ban on decorative chains?
If one wanted to beat someone with those, it would take seveal minutes to unfasten them! If you were in a fight, your opponent would most likely have beaten you to a bloody pulp already. Heck, to be honest, a pencil would probably be just as dangerous.
But this was North Hamelten, a place known for it's dictator-like principal. Sometimes he wondered why 'pal' was even part of the word when generally, they were everything but. Dr. Malcom ruled the place with an iron fist. If anyone so much as sneezed on their textbooks, the disciplinary comitee would already be there with sanitation wipes and a detention slip. Eveyone hated Dr. Malcom's guts, especially since he lacked any form of compassion and humor.
One time, someone had donated a deer statue to the school because the stag was their mascot. Malcom had decided that the buck's balls were too big and proptly neutered it with a hacksaw.
But Sam remembered pushing all those thoughts aside as he turned into the road that led to the back parking lot. Ahead loomed the squat brick building that almost looked like a prison; how fitting. Sam swiftly pulled into an open space and parked. He recalled reaching into the back seat and retrieving his gray backpack, heavily laden with papers. It had been left there from last night.
*********************
The boy remembered getting out of the car and going into the school, the halls crowded with the same filth that always crawled around with it's heads obideantly bowed. Through a set of double doors, down one hallway, one left turn, down another hallway, and a sharp turn to the right; this was the road to Sam's locker that he took every day. After that, it was a matter of finding his locker, number 144, entering the three digits on the built-in twist lock, pulling the door open, and depotisitng/withdrawing the books that would be needed for today's lessons. It was a practiced he performed every day.
"Lessee," Sam remembered saying to himself, "Gym -- Math -- English -- History -- Art -- Lunch -- Spanish -- Science. The gym is over there, so I should leave everything here and and come back for it." It was a logical course of action, and moments later, Sam recalled walking into the men's locker room.
He could remember this slightly warm and salty air digging into his nostrils. sometimes he wondered if anyone even bothered to clean the lockerrooms. They always smelled the same: full of sweat and deodorant. Several other guys were already there in various states of undress.
Sam remembered hurrying over to his gym locker, switching his jeans and shirt for exercise clothes: a white shirt and some long-legged sweat pants. It really didn't matter what time of year it was, Sam disliked wearing shorts. It was one of the main reasons he liked weaing Tripp pants: they were big enough to wear a second set of pants under in the winter, and baggy enough to allow air to circulate in the summer. Shame they were banned at the school.
Sam remembered the gym class that day being quite ordinary: first, it was pull ups. The teacher, a fit man named Mr. Roman with short brown hair, pushed them to try and reach and/or exceed their maximum. Sam's limit was fifteen in a row. Then came push ups, crunches, twists, sit-ups, and numerous other warm-ups. The run was next, one large lap around the school and into the tennis court. They were playing there today.
Had this darkness been caused by a blow to the head from a tennis ball? No, Sam didn't recall anything like that happening in class. Actually, he remembered winning two of the three games they played that day. He had moderate success when it come to sports.
*********************
After gym he had re-dressed, applied his deodorant, and stopped by his locker. Sam was then on his way down the hall to Math. Bah, quadratic functions, yuck. English was just as bad: more vocabulary he probably would never even use. Then came History, with more dates of things he could care less about. Art followed. He actually liked that class since jewelry making was a nice pastime. What did he have for Lunch? Ah yes, pizza and tator tots with an apple on the side and a Pepsi.
Another stop by the locker, and it was off to Spanish. Why did he need another language? 'We're in America dammit!' he remembered thinking 'Why can't everyone just speak English?'
Finally it was Science, the last class of the day. He remembered they were working in the lab today, some experiment imvolving turning pennies gold. Ah, yes, that's what it was. Yes, it was all coming back to him now:
His partner, a scrawny blond boy named Sayer, had just filled the beaker with water. Their experiment called for mixing powdered Zinc with a Sodium Hydroxide solution and heating it nearly to the boiling point. Sadly, Sam had been reviewing the work handout just as his partner added the Sodium Hydroxide tablets to the water without mentioning it. That idiot should have known better, since the teacher said that Sodium Hydroxide reactions produce a lot of heat! Not to mention the fact that Sayer had added too many tablets. Sam had reached for the beaker without knowing how hot it had become, burning his hand as a result.
Sam could remember starling, leaping back, and somehow falling backwards as he tripped over something. He must have hit his head and blacked out as a result. That's why it was dark! He must have suffered a concussion or fallen pretty hard.
'So this is what being in a coma feels like,' the youth mused 'Just plain darkness. I wonder when I am going to wake up. I really wish there was something here other than the darkness. I wish the darkness would go away. Oh well, it's not like I can cast magic missile at it.'