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Dreams and illusions are mere states of the mind; a cellular exchange of electrical signals and chemical substances. For some, dreams are often thought to pertain to the realm of the supernatural, revealing a sequence of forthcoming events; a window between what is and what will be. Or is it just a crude reflection of one’s sub conscience? Either way, dreams are what they are: An alternate reality generated by the brain. What for?

The question was further more appealing than the quest for an answer. For him, dreams were the only way to escape this reality he now found himself trapped into. He was prisoner of his own body, a slave of his own mind.

He stayed there looking at the ceiling for long hours, dreaming he was somewhere else. Searching for a refuge in his own memories. But the tedious mechanical disturbances around would drag him back, slamming his imagination against the four sterilised walls around him. He then realised what loneliness really means. The frequent visits of his shattered parents only made it worse.

It’s in these moments of dementia that you ask yourself whether it was all worthwhile. Does it have to be this way? Or was it all just a glimpse of your imagination? No matter where you are in the universe, the truth, even the most imperceivable part of it, cannot be denied, as it is what constitutes the reason of your being here. The reason why it all started. The reason that pushed you through the door and made you pickup that chainsaw to cut off all that was dear to you.

Memories are like butterflies trapped in a jar exposed to a disease; some can escape, some survive, and others just fade away, simply because they are too weak. That’s all he could do; fighting to preserve all that was left. It’s been days since he was there, half dead. In a way, the truth was much worse than that. He would have laughed if he could… at the irony of his own fate.

Ah fate! The escape goat of all lazy, desperate, depressive neurosis victims. What’s more easy than putting the blame on destiny? More than once you hear people blaming their nature on their fate. Maybe they should try to see things the other way round. Destiny can be viewed as an immense puzzle which can have different possible outcomes depending on the choices you make. Even the most unimportant event can cast ripples through the immense web of destiny. He could hear Coldplay playing in his head “… we never change, do we?”. Ironically, what makes all the beauty of human nature, is its ability to change, to remodel itself according to circumstances and evolving environments.

He kept thinking about those who won’t stop complaining about the misery of their pointless lives, but won’t ever dare to change something. Maybe they were used to grumble, ’cause it’s so much easier than actually admitting that they were the sole responsible for their failure. It’s easy to put the blame on others, on fate. But when it comes to admit one’s faults, it’s a completely different story. It’s all about games people play… All these contributed to the reasons why he always felt alone. He never seemed to understand the vanity of human nature.

He had made some friends though. The nurse who always wore a blue bracelet, the cleaner with headphones and the patient next to him: a 70 year old retired school teacher. They would talk to him, sharing their experiences, their lives. We always need someone to talk to. It seems that many psychological instabilities and social problems is due to the lack of communication. All that people need, is a friend who can share their pain, someone they can confide in. And who is better suited than someone in his state? It might seem a bit creepy at first. But come to think of it, the coma made him the perfect person for that.

He would not say anything, never interrupt. He would not be able to anyway. Sometimes he had the impression they thought he could not hear them. That made things easier in a way, at least for them. It’s always easier to talk when you know no one is going to judge you.

Days were flying by like cheap ink from a mad writer’s pen. All this looked too much like a distorted sequence from a gloomy soap opera. He just hoped all this would end one day.