Fever Dream, Tyler Allison ‘21

The boy wakes up tired and with a mild headache. He didn’t get much sleep the night before. He considered going to a doctor because of his constant sleep deprivation, possibly caused by insomnia, but deep down, he knew that part of the problem was his crazy amount of schoolwork. He went to school, talked to his friends, and came home. He would say “hi” to his parents and then go straight upstairs to bury himself in his laptop. He had always thought that he didn’t pay his parents enough attention, but he had to get his work done. He had to. There was no way to succeed other than working hard; that was what he was raised to believe. He had to be successful and to do this, he would work and study, and work and study. He would go out with friends when he could, and he loved to play video games, but he was almost always in his room when he was home. Seclusion didn’t bother him whatsoever; it almost felt normal. It was his life. After doing whatever he was doing, whether that be work or games, he would try to fall asleep. When he would eventually get down for the night, he wouldn’t dream. His brain was too overworked for such imagination. Eventually, and for no reason, he would wake up in the middle of the night. He would always wonder why he couldn’t sleep but he knew that it was because of what he was doing to himself during the day, both physically and emotionally. Even though this jarring experience was happening every night, he did nothing to change his lifestyle because it was just normal to him now. The constant sleep deprivation and headaches were just part of his life. Fogginess clouded his mind, making it hard to look outside of his current situation, but his thoughts were just clear enough to read the article that his teacher had assigned for that night or take that quiz that seemed so crucial at the time. It was almost like he was trapped in a daydream, but it seemed so real. His schoolwork was just piling up and no matter how long he spent on it, the flow of papers, projects, and tests would just never stop. Even when summer came he would still be working on school. AP work, summer reading, and clubs that were meant only to boost his resumé consumed his vacations. This never-ending cycle was just a part of who he was and how his life seemed to be. He did not question it, he didn’t even understand why he put up with it. He just did. It seemed like life to him, preparing for a future that seemed so unrealistic and far away that it became second nature and not thought out desire. He thought back to when he was sick earlier that year. He had the flu and remembered how vivid and realistic his dreams were. He ran a fever every night that he had one of these dreams. The waking up in the middle of the night did not cease. Time felt like it was standing still when he would wake up the next morning, yet it would continue. He would do the same routine, get dressed, brush his teeth, try to stay off his phone as much as possible, drive to school. Every morning this is what happened. Without even a second

thought it was the same routes, the same steps. Sometimes if you looked hard enough, you could see the imprints on the floor where he would walk every morning. The same footsteps, the same tasks, the same day? The boy looked at the footprints in the old oak floor. “How long would it take for these to be ingrained into the wood?” he said. He went about his day and completely forgot about the encounter with what seemed to be a glimpse of reality. He had only partially woken up the night before at 2 am. He started to get more and more sleep, slipping in and out this state of unconscious self-distraction, only for short periods of time. He would notice people he knew were in the same cycle but then promptly forget when returning to what seemed like an ongoing. Why was this happening? What was happening? He went to history class as he normally would. He didn’t stop to talk to his friends; he didn’t get a drink, he didn’t change his facial expression the entire way to the classroom. His strides seemed calculated, each the same distance and same speed as the last. As the days and weeks passed, he would get more sleep. He woke up fewer times and for less time, and before he knew it, he would stay conscious and out of the dream state, the fever dream, for more than two minutes at a time. He wouldn’t know what to do most of the time, so he just kept on working or doing what he was doing. He would forget what had happened, about being conscious once he returned to the cycle, to the disease. That is one thing he did notice. It was a disease. His friends, his classmates, even his brother were all sucked into the same thing. They were all so focused on their work, on their careers, on things that didn’t make them happy. It just had to be done. That’s what they would tell themselves. It just had to be done, right? Stepping in and out of full consciousness, more and more began to give him the ability to remember, to retain his experiences. After a long time, the boy was able to piece together certain thoughts, certain ideas. He became aware of the disease, of the fever dream. What was it? What was going on? He went to bed. He woke up again just like he had every other day, tired. Dazed and confused he walked down the hallway stepping in the footprints left in the old oak floor. He went to school, came home, noticed his eyes were dilated, did his homework, went to bed. Woke up, went to school, looked and saw his eyes were dilated, came home, did his homework, went to bed. Woke up, went to school, saw his friends had dilated eyes, came home, did his homework, went to bed. Woke up, went to school, came home, and looked at his dad. Recently he hadn’t looked at his dad too closely; he just seemed to always just be there. “God his hair is greying,” the boy would think to himself. He noticed the dilation in his eyes as well. He went to his mom and decided that he might want to cook dinner so that she doesn’t have to. “She had a hard day at work. She could use a break” the boy thought to himself. She looked stressed, tired with bloodshot eyes. “Man, she does look older” he

thought. He noticed the bags under her eyes and slightly wrinkled cheeks. He hadn’t noticed her age in a long time. At least he never paid attention to it. This sight saddened him, so he went upstairs like he normally did to melt into his screens after dinner. His brother came into his room to play on the console that was in the boy’s room. He didn’t have actual conversations with his brother, even though he had ample to talk with him. He drove him to school, they ate dinner together, they even did homework in the same room sometimes, but they never really talked. He wanted to bring up his findings, his observations but couldn’t find the words. The fever dream seemed to still have a hold on how he thought, what he said. As he approached his brother, he looked into his eyes to speak. Dilation. The boy jumped back from his brother, scared and confused. His brother had just recently started his freshman year of high school. He had definitely matured over the summer, gotten taller, gotten smarter. He seemed more focused on his school work too. What changed about him? “That’s it! The dilation of the eyes is a tell-tale sign of the fever dream… what was I just saying?” The boy slips back into the trance. He went to bed.

Tyler Allison ‘21