“He’s wak­ing–his eyes!”

They all scram­ble around the bed, hold­ing their breaths in an­tic­i­pa­tion. The boy in the bed twitches, and again and again.

“Do you think he’ll still think–” “Hush! No way to know un­til–” “Silly dreams he has–” “The de­tec­tive–” “The girl de­tec­tive–” “Why would he be a girl?” “Why would he be a de­tec­tive?”

“Quiet!” The mother hisses.

Every­one falls silent.

The boy blinks.

“H-honey?” whis­pers the mother, “Can you hear me?”

The boy moans.

“I…” Now, he cries. “I don’t wanna be here… I…”

He looks around, blink­ing at every­one in the crowd.

“I don’t wanna be any­where… I’m alone–”

“Honey, we’re all here, look!” ex­claims the mother.

“You don’t see me. You see who you want to see. Over there they see me, but it’s just ‘cause they’re all me.”

“Honey, you’re not mak­ing any sense. Look, we’re all here, here for you–”

“Just… I’m gonna go back,” he whis­pers. “Ta-ta for now.”

With that, his eyes roll up into his head.

Wow.

Some­times, you have re­ally weird dreams.

You’re glad your not ac­tu­al­ly some crazy boy stuck in a bed.