A boy named Michael ate his dreams while he slept.
He always managed to vomit them back up…though.
When he woke to the sun, all he would find were pieces and fragments left wedged in his teeth, a lingering bitter taste, and a better “him” just simmering below the surface; shown with a bitten, bleeding tongue.
Fingers thoughtfully crawled along his blankets, his clothes, and through his hair, back arching to look over at the ringing bells shaped as a modern-day digital clock. His heart continuously pounded in his chest and out of sync with the background, as if recently jumping off a very high place, only to be stopped right before hitting the ground. The very, very hard ground.
He did not want to get up. He did not want to get ready.
He looked over.
The bells still kept its lovely tune. His slow, shaking hand clicked the clock off.
Michael wanted to go back to sleep. He couldn’t.
Michael desired that surge of energy to start the day.
That did not happen.