Will heard a chiming nose and opened his eyes. It was dark. Dark and cold. He patted himself down, expecting something to hurt. What he felt was soft and cool to the touch - a blanket? He sat up, and sure enough he was sitting on a bed. The Hospital? He wondered briefly as he felt his arm for an IV. Nothing was there - just the fabric of some sort of shirt. Had the whole thing been a dream?
He threw back the blankets and slowly eased himself to the side of the bed, waiting for the far-too-familiar feel of shooting pain in his back and legs, but it didn't come. They must have given me some good pain killers, he thought, and put his hands on his face. It was smooth. Too smooth. Had they shaved him too? He felt around for signs of injury but couldn't feel any. But his arms moved a little smoother. He felt less heavy. He felt… good. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Then he realized, he was on the edge of the bed, but his feet weren't touching the floor. He slid out of the bed and the floor was cool on his feet. He had the strange feeling of dejavu, like he'd been here before.
He instinctively turned, walking around the end of his bed, and reached towards the wall for a light switch. Nothing.
"Hello?" He called out - but the voice wasn't his. But it was strangely familiar. "Huh?"
He strained his eyes in the dark and looked at his hands - they were the hands of a child. "What the fuck" he whispered in a voice that didn't sound quite right. He knew the voice. He recognized the hands. He suddenly knew the room, like he'd been there for years. He reached a little higher, and sure enough, 'click' went the light switch. He was in his old room from when he was a boy. He turned to the dresser that was at the foot of his bed, and saw his reflection in the mirror. It was him alright - but he was just a kid. Seven? Eight? He wasn't sure, but this wasn't right. His heart began to pound in his chest. He started sweating, and it was harder to breathe. He stumbled back towards the bed and sat down.
He remembered the chair breaking. His wife complaining. He remembered wishing he could redo his life. He remembered the drive, the rain, the crash.
This is a dream he thought. This is a dream, or a final fantasy before I die.
He didn't feel like he was dying though. He felt better than he had in a long time, except for the mild panic attack.
But aside from the fact that he was possibly dying - what was there to be panicked about? If this was a dream - he could enjoy it. If this was his brains final burst of energy - well - he wouldn't know the difference before long.
So with that, he began to calm his nerves, and walked towards the door. He opened it with a creak, and stepped into the hallway of his boyhood. He crept down the hall, and stepped down the staircase. This was so real. So familiar. He stepped into the living room, and everything was just the way he remembered, at least in the dark. He crept into the kitchen where he saw the time on the oven clock - 11:49 pm. It had only been a few 'minutes' since he had checked the clock last.
He looked at his hands again, clenching and unclenching them. This was so strange. So real.
He pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. The chair felt like a fond memory.
How old am I right now? He wondered. He was pretty sure he was seven or eight - he'd need to look at a calendar to know for sure. If this dream was even vivid enough for that kind of math to work. He flipped on the kitchen light. The calendar on the wall was turned to May of 1997. He counted on his fingers… he was seven years old right now.
He heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. His mother, youthful, alive, was there. "Sweetie, are you alright?" She asked. Tears welled up in his eyes - he hadn't even considered that he would be able to see her right now. He ran up to her without thinking and embraced her in a hug. He hadn't seen her in ten years. She was just like he remembered. "Oh sweetie, its just a bad dream, come back to bed" she said, but he just held her. He wasn't sure how long this lasted before she guided him back to bed. As he began to doze, he thought to himself - he was going to miss this dream.
///
Will woke up in his childhood bed once again. Sunlight was coming through his window. What is going on he thought to himself. How am I still in this dream? Or has my entire life been a dream, up until now?.
He looked in the mirror again, and sure enough, there was seven year old will looking back at him. But in the morning light, he noticed something else. Off to the peripheral of his vision he could see something - a number. 1, bolder than the rest. And below it, a series of other numbers - 1, 2, 1, 5, 5, 10. "What the hell?" he whispered. The more he tried to focus on these numbers, they shifted. He could only see them if he was looking straight into the mirror and didn't focus too hard.
He stared at the mirror for a long, long time, chasing those numbers with his eyes, before his mom came into the room. "Oh good, you're up." She said. "I thought I was going to have to wake you."
He looked back at her for a moment.
"Mom… this is going to be a weird question. But - what day is it?"
"Saturday, sweetie. You must have had some dream last night, huh?"
Well, at least it was a weekend. He had time to get his bearings. He didn't know how long this dream, or this coma, would last for. There was no way his entire life had been a dream - he knew too much that a seven year old had no business knowing about the world. He had memories. Experiences. Man, he was for sure going to be top of his class when he went to school on Monday he thought, chuckling inwardly.
"Come down for breakfast" his mom said, and left the room.
Will waited for a few moments before deciding to follow. He took one more glance at the mirror and the mysterious numbers.