Ch. 1 Part 1

All was quiet in the house. Wind blew carelessly into the open window, mingling with the velvet curtains as it did. Light flooded the bedroom and naturally bounced off the pail walls somewhat. A figure lay comatose on his stomach under the covers with his right food exposed. His toes twitched and fluttered madly while his left hand clenched at his blue pillow. The boy awoke an instant later. He felt his forehead and discovered a couple of beads of sweat. He had that dream again.
The juvenile looked about wildly. Nothing remained from his dream, he saw, so he relaxed. A yawn escaped his lips as he stumbled out of bed and onto his wooden floor. He rubbed his forehead once more, relieved to find his body under control once again.

The boy made a beeline for his closet out of habit. He opened the door and stared at the image on the polished glass. His reflection faithfully followed his movements. Like the boy, it shook his thick brown hair to one side. Like the boy, it stretched away the look of tiredness. Also like the boy, it stared at the opposite’s crimson eyes.

The real boy moved his head from side to side slowly, keeping his eyes locked on to the eyes of his reflection. He couldn’t help but wonder if his skull pivoted around his eyeballs, or if his eyeballs simply moved in to opposite direction as his skull without giving off the feel of motion. The adolescent simply shrugged and thought to ask his learning program later.
The smell of his everyday breakfast, bacon, eggs, and toast, hung thick in the air. The brunet boy smiled and gratefully fixed his plate. His mother, as she did every day, fixed her and her husband’s breakfast.

“Hello, how are you, Son?” the mother asked routinely.

“I’m fine, how are you?” Son responded routinely.

“I’m fine. Did you sleep well?” she asked monotonously. At that the young lad looked down slightly. It was the same every day, badly. He told her about the horrors of his dream, just as he did every morning, and asked her if it could possibly mean anything.

“That’s too bad,” the woman replied mechanically. “Eat up and go do your learning program.”

“But mom,” her son objected, “I think they’re getting worse. Shouldn’t we see if there’s something wrong. You know, I learned that sometimes dreams can me-“

“That’s too bad,” his mother replied in a replicated tone as before. “Eat up and go do your learning program.” Quickly she added, “I love you, Son, and am very proud,” then quickly turned away. Son sat in bewilderment, amazed at his mother’s inability to detect his worry. He could do little more than slump out of his chair and to his computer. Today he would learn about the great Aristotle and his Philosophical analogies. From that lesson he would receive his inspiration; the analogy of a man chained inside of a dark cave, forced to look at mere shadows of objects outside that were his reality.