Sleep

6:00am. John Tel hit the snooze button to continue his dream.

6:15. .

6:30. . .

10:30. John heard a loud noise from the outside. He rushed to the window and, through it, saw nothing special. He was already late for work, by an hour. He went straight for the refrigerator to get some breakfast. After reciting a mantra, knees slightly bent, he farted nice and tight, and proceeded to chewing his wheat-grass. From there, to his arriving at work, he had half an hour of bus to ride for his eyes to recover from his mysterious dreams.

John entered the bachroom and set his club on the rack, "Another day, hngh!"
"Boss told us that whomever we see next should see him."
There she was... typing away with a geeky smile. John wondered at her professional attitude and, after work, would stay home for fear of running into this infused character. He hadn't caught half of what she said but, never the less, responded, "Thanks."

John knocked before opening the door to the manager's office. His boss was sitting in a slick leather chair behind an ugly, crowded desk. He said, "Alright! Good to see that you're still with us..." ripping John's file, "...Get the fuck out of my office!" to finally taking off the safety, "NOW!"

John ran for his life, grabbing his club on his way out. When he got home, he sat in front of TV; club handy. He thought back a year, when he was working for a tax firm. His boss ended-up holding his sister hostage; threatening to kill her if he didn't bring back all the pens and pads he had stolen from work. When he complied, his sister was shot anyways and he was fired. It hurt to think about how hard it was for him to keep a steady job. What he needed was a managing gig... only then could he trade-in his club for a gun. The only alternative was to join the police force but he neither had the build nor the incredible ability to drink required.

TV said, through an info-mercial, that John should see a team of sleep specialists. Kumbaya!... he picked up the phone and dialled the number to book an appointment. On the way to the lab, that very night, he ran into his ex-boss, who herd him mumbling: "Prick."
"Did I just hear that?"
He shot and missed. John didn't just stand there. He threw his club at him and ran for the lab. Security fired back at the assailant and John was saved.

"Welcome! You must be John," said the tall skinny man he ran into, a quarter-way towards the room specified over the phone. He extended his hand to John and continued, "My name is Frank and I will help you. Please follow me," Frank led him into what looked like a bedroom, only with a lot of wires everywhere, "You will stay here tonight. We have provided you with books to help you sleep. Any questions?"
John had none. He figured that he was safer here than outside, with that lunatic roaming around, anyways. Frank left, bidding him a good night.
The light was perfect for reading. The books were of general natures and all very interesting. He made himself comfortable the bed sheets and fell asleep.

* * *

I'm walking down Main Street; wandering the short line of restaurants and gas stations. A girl with which I have a mysterious friendship, is entering the restaurant next to me and I notice that she has company; notably Joan Rivers. She invites me to join them. I am reluctant due to my horribly strong body odour but the chance to meet Joan Rivers sells me and I follow them in. Joan Rivers is sitting close to me and talking to the owner. I tell my friend of my embarrassing smell and she assures me that it doesn't matter. Joan Rivers balances her chair on two legs, tends backwards, and tells me that the owner almost has a big mouth. Alanis Morissette is sitting right in front of me and I enthusiastically tell her that she has an amazing voice. She humbly thanks my kindness. I ask her a favour: that she always use real instruments in all her arrangements. I mention 'Something You Aught to Know' and she tells me that the song was a special case. My friend says that it's a great song and I inform her that Flea and Dave Navaro (surprised that I remember his name in the state I'm in) played it on 'Jagged Little Pill'. I add that they're from the 'Red Hot Chili Peppers' and that they kick ass.

* * *

"Good morning! John. I hope you slept well," said a very enthusiastic Frank.
"Yes, I did. Thank-you!"
"Although we were able to amass much data from last night's session, we still need you to come back for comparative testing. It will be no different for you but it will help us help you." Frank gave John his card, on which were written a series of dates. The next appointment was scheduled for two days later. John got his things together and was escorted through the back door.

He walked three blocks and was shot in the arm by his ex-boss. He ran to the nearest tavern, a well known hang-out for cops on their breaks; dodging the bullets as best as he could. He came through the door, bleeding all over the floor and the bartender told him to leave.

"Ah shit, Al!" said the only officer (in uniform) there, "What are you talking about. The poor guy's shot. Can't you see that?"
"Yes I can. That's why I want him out of here," answered Al, "I just had the chairs re-apolsterred last week."

The ex-boss came in, gun at hand. The officer took this as sufficient principle for making this police business, meaning Al was then powerless and had to tend to John's wound if he didn't want him further staining the floor with his blood. The cop invited them both to take a seat next to him. They each bought him a beer, as it was customary, to get on his good side. He gave his hand at resolving their problem by saying, "Come now! we're all brothers, right? Here you go!" he ordered them each a beer and raised his to cheer, "Drink your beer and make peace. That's what I always say."

Perhaps it was the reeking smell of alcohol on the policeman's breath; or maybe it was the little holes that covered the walls and the chipped-off pieces of table and chair that littered the floor, but John had a pretty bad feeling about this. He feared that he would never see home again... at least not very well. But he couldn't see any other way out so he stayed and drank what he thought would be his last beer. It didn't stop there though, courtesy of a drunk flat-foot who hated to drink alone. "HAVe aNOder Brr!" he kept saying every time one of them would finish theirs and try to leave. John ended-up drinking his ex-boss under the table. The officer winked and said, "SEE?... jwinK an mayk PEEs! Don warry, idzon him." John left, stumbling through the door.

* * *

Something happened during John's next sleeping session that sparked the researchers' curiosity.
"Sir! Come and take a look at this."
"Very interesting! We must keep this subject with us. Call my lawyer and have him come here right away. And tell him to bring champagne. I want Mr. Tel's signature on a contract, first thing tomorrow morning. Gentlemen... we are going to make history."

* * *

John awoke to a steaming cup of coffee and toast; feeling great. In fact, he couldn't recall having slept so well before. He reached over to his bag and took out his wheat-grass. There was a knock, half-way through his ritual. In came Frank, accompanied by a tall slim man carrying a briefcase which was rested on the night-stand. From it, he extracted a hefty document, sat down next to John and spoke, "Mr. Tel, I represent this research team. They wish to keep you in as a long-term subject. You will be payed, of course, and a healthy pension will be waiting for you upon your leave."

John farted and chewed the wheat-grass. Frank continued after the lawyer, "All you have to do is sleep. You will do so in time lapses of ten hours, followed by hours of recreation, when you may do as you wish, within this facility. I have made arrangements for your greatest comfort. You will be fed the best foods and train on the most sophisticated equipment. Your health is of the highest importance to us, so you will be examined by your own private doctor, whom I will personally select. You will never be exposed to any harmful bacteria or virus and so you will never be sick for as long as you are with us."

The tall man handed the document over to John for him to sign and said that everything was clearly stated in it. John couldn't understand the legal jargon, so the lawyer had to clarify the contents in layman's terms. In brief, along with what Frank had already said, he was not to leave the centre for another twenty years; he was not to consume any drug except for caffeine and those given to him by his nurse; he had to exercise for two hours during his daily check-up and he wasn't aloud visitors. The heftiness of the document was allegedly accounted for by specific medical and legal procedures. He was assured that the project was condoned by the federal government and that he was doing science, and his country, a great service.

John was a very simple and lonely man. He had lost his family and friends. He had no hobbies except for watching TV (if that was even a hobby at all). He was passionate, however, of one thing... sleep. His dreams took him far away from his mundane prison that was life. He lost many a job for sleeping-in up to outrageous hours. Sometimes he would call-in sick just to continue a particularly pleasurable dream. Even his nightmares brought-on excitement. It was all like interactive theatre to him; he was always the hero. Being unemployed as of a few days ago, he needed the job. This was an incredible opportunity for him. And when it would all be over, he would leave a rich man. There would be no more shit jobs and no more worries... just sleep. The lawyer showed him the dotted line and he signed it.

"Thank-you Mr. Tel," said the tall man, "It was a pleasure meeting you." And he, together with Frank, left the room.
As soon as John had finished his coffee, a cook came in, with a re-fill and asked John what foods he preferred. He wasn't aloud any junk-food but the selection was still vast and tantalizing. John didn't so much have to say what he liked as to what he didn't like: he had been, from childhood, very open minded and curious to new flavours and aromas. They agreed on a pleasant surprise meal basis for supper and lunch, but not breakfast, which would strictly be wheat-grass and perhaps the occasional cup of coffee.

An orderly then entered the room, bringing him a television set, to be hooked- up to a satellite dish outlet for entertainment and a window to the outside world. John turned it on right away to see what there was. "One-hundred and sixty channels!" he was told as he flicked away on a deluxe remote control. He was also handed decoration magazines and catalogues from which to choose his bedroom set and colour scheme. Being of a very simple nature, however, he declined the offer, saying that what he had already sufficed. The orderly put them away in a drawer, next to his bed, in case he changed his mind. They made sure that he had everything he needed before leaving him to a whole day with TV.

John had the world to see, at his fingertips and it was a big world. He never even got around to viewing half the channels. TV told him about a few wars in progress around the globe; an increase in local crime rate; starvation in the third world countries; rock stars; movie stars; sitcom stars; love and good drugs. It featured the Great West, which was still at war with nobody in particular. "Anybody does the trick over there!" thought John, "Ever since the lab accident, many years back, sinister side-effects had been popping out from everywhere." For example: the small businesses decided to take matters into their own hands and turned vigilante. "The law is based on religious propaganda anyway, so to hell with it!" was what they'd say to thieves and armed robbers at gunpoint. Both criminal parties consequently became very dangerous ways of living... so they formed a major conglomerate and fought back. Since then it's been 'paramilitia with a smile'. Lately, John was of the opinion that the whole thing had gone to far. But what was there to do: no one was strong enough to challenge them. Even if they could, he knew people to be self-indulging misers who'd surprise him if any did something about the sorry state of the world other than abusing it's resources.

Alanis appeared on a late-night talk show and mentioned his request. John was blown away by this and told the cook all about it; that he thought that somehow he had really talked to her. The cook humoured him and told him that he should keep it to himself.

"If the doctors happened to find-out about what you're telling me, they would surely think that you're nuts. When my brother's doctor herd that he thought he was a prophet, he was pumped with so many drugs that he eventually did go crazy. My brother used to be a bright guy... now ge's just a shadow of his former self. Take it from me and think about it, John."

John was convinced and he never spoke of it again; nor did such a thing ever occur afterwards. The doctor Frank had appointed to him came at the end of the day, just as scheduled. John never saw the sun rise or set but he had TV to keep him on track.

"Good evening John. My name is Dr.S.Gurd. How are we feeling tonight?" said the tall slender man, putting his black bag on the television set, "please... take your clothes off and sit on the edge of the bed." John did as he was asked and the doctor performed a basic check-up.
"Please... follow me."
John was led to what looked like an electric gym, full of machines and wires. "The point of this," so explained Dr.S.Gurd, "is to assess any deterioration of the muscles and bones, and to give them their much needed exercise. Lying down and watching television all day can drain your physical energy and cause health problems. As you are well aware of, it is my sole duty to keep that from happening."
John proceeded to performing the exercises as Dr.S.Gurd ordered. They worked every muscle and to measured his cardiac health. John wasn't in very good shape, but he was healthy. He would achieve the standards imposed by the Ministry of Health within two months.

* * *

Everyday after then bore resemblance to the second: the press dug a little deeper; the movie stars got a little sexier; the poor got a little hungrier; the love got a little more intense and the drugs got a little better. But inside John's room, things hadn't changed a bit. The dirt was picked-up by the orderly; the food, even if different at every meal, remained food and thus rather mundane; the physicals were always performed the same way and the diagnosis ceased to change once John reached the national standard. Everything was always the same until. . .

"Good morning John. How are we feeling today?" said Dr.S.Gurd, ready to perform John's daily physical. John noticed the error and asked the doctor why he would say 'good mourning' when it was the evening.
What the doctor should've said was, 'good evening', as he did every day in John's life. However, that day, John's evening coincided with the real world's mourning. Dr.S.Gurd was still feeling a little drowsy from a lack of sleep and the words slipped. The doctor simply apologized for using the wrong word and that he meant to say, 'good evening'.
Frank, from behind the mirror, noticed the puzzled look on John's face. He told the doctor, through a mini ear receiver, that he wanted to see him in his office after the physical.

* * *

I'm sneaking across restricted corridors to gather classified information about some new biological weapon. This is the right pass-code and so is this. Everywhere I go drops its defence for reasons I do not understand. I have my mission and it is being carried out with extreme precision and success. I see the sensors with my naked eye. I realize the secrets to bypass the highest of security systems. I feel that I have been perfectly trained... but in a matter of minutes? Surely that is impossible. Perhaps I am programming myself to be so efficient. Yes... I must be dreaming; but this is so real, even if surreal. I'm in the designated room and the computer is already on. I copy the pertinent file onto my hard-drive arm implant and proceed to verify its authenticity: it was just a test and I have passed it. I leave the room but where do I go from here?. . .
meanwhile. . .

"Gurd, you twit! you almost blew it!"
"I'm very sorry Sir... it slipped!"
Frank rubbed his temples and sighed. He gave the doctor a grave look and said, "Do you realize the importance of this project; the impact it will have on our government? We are working under heavy pressure on this one. Artificial intelligence will be the ultimate act of science."

"I know that very well, Frank," wiping the sweat off his forehead, "I read all about your theory: by creating a circuit through the brain and feeding computer data into it, you believe you can include the chaos factor within the computations."
"And the subject must be asleep during the procedure to avoid cerebral shock." added Frank, "John is perfect for testing out all the bugs."

"I don't see why you should make such a big deal of this," stated Gurd, "The subject need not ever wake-up..." Frank's eyes became round with surprise at the gull of him to say such a thing, "... We have all the resources necessary to keep him healthy through-out a twenty-year coma. Electric impulses to stimulate the muscles and I.V.s to nourish his body; what else could he possibly need?"

Frank approached him to an uncomfortable closeness and whispered into his ear, "You don't know the half of what you talk about, doctor. That is why I must take you off the project. As of now... consider yourself fired." Gurd's face turned pale and without another word, he left the office.

Frank went back to his paperwork, sat behind his desk, and a loud gunshot pierced the dry air like a wake-up call at 6:00am.