Maybe tonight, I'll go to bed early and work on a vehicle to traverse the Endless Desert. I could also just use the extra time to prepare for the incoming Yuurish siege. . . either way, I should fall asleep at 8:30 instead of 10:00 and get there before Maya. Per--

"Hello? Jackson? Are you even paying attention?"

I shook my head with a sharp inhale. Sitting up, straightening my lopsided collar, I tried to force a smile. "Of course I am, Ms. Henson. Please continue with the slideshow--it's riveting."

The group stifled snickers, trying to retain poignancy. Henson took it in stride, though, continuing her lecture without a hitch. Good sport.

"Well, exactly for this purpose, media campaigns need to be more enthralling--captivating and enrapturing. Too often are they cookie-cutter or bland, resulting in people like Jackson sleeping through them. That's our purpose here at Medialive. That means I need you guys to care when campaigning."

I nodded and agreed with a look of appeasement carefully crafted through the years, as if I appreciated listening to a woman making five times my salary drone on over being enthusiastic about cold calling strangers. Our titles are 'Marketing Experts', but that's just so we'd sound professional when making calls--the more apt term would be 'telemarketers', or, alternatively, 'those people you wish would trip and stumble onto a high-speed freeway'.

Henson continued with her lecture, and I continued to draw a grin on my face, bobbing my head up and down, up and down, with slightly staggered offsets to emulate an attention span--as if I have one of those.

Oh, look, a squirrel.

When the meeting was over, I shuffled back to my cubicle and pretended to be swamped with work to avoid the coworkers in my biome--I don't know how I ended up with the Gossip Girls around me, but I did. I guess people are more receptive to strange female voices than male, but they couldn't have women comprise the entire department or it'd look degrading. Which, it is, obviously--there was nowhere near the same concentration of women in any other section, but they can't have it blatantly look that way. That's basically what I got paid for, if you can even call it getting paid.

Face buried in a computer filled with empty words, I lightly swung my letter-opener around as if it were as sword, slicing through mail of both paper and imaginary steel. The exhaustion wasn't helping me get any work done; I'd spent too much time dreaming, leaving me lethargic and unmotivated. Well, more than usual, at least.

That's what happens when you barely make it back before the sun sets. I wonder, if I just pick up the phone and talk to myself, would anyone even know I'm faking it?

"Don't work too hard, Jackson. You might hurt yourself at this rate."

Startled, I instinctively snapped a hand at my work phone, missing and knocking aside the receiver.

"Oh, it's just you, Mike." The words came out as a sigh of relief. Mike Fonsetti was perhaps 'persistent' at worst, but easy to stick around in a workplace. Also, he liked me for some unknown reason. That's always a plus.

He was cracking up at my clamorous fit. "Sorry, Jax. You're too easy to screw with, always zoning out and getting caught up thinking about whatever it is you think about. What do you think about, man?"

"Oh, nothing really. A nice vacation in the forest, beautiful women, and adventures. Typical stuff. All I really know is that anywhere, even somewhere in my head, is better than this dump."

"Amen to that, brother. Although--women? How risqué. I wouldn't have expected you to say that, since you never come out when I invite you." He falsely gasped, hand shooting up to cover a gaping mouth. "Maybe you've had a change of heart? I'm telling you, man, those happy hours are a lot of fun."

I shrugged and maintained a taut smile as my eyes shifted towards the floor. "Maybe some other time, Mike. I always appreciate you inviting me, but I don't really feel up to it."

His lips twisted down, and his eyebrows up. "Alright, Jax. Whatever you say, man. I'm just telling you, if you're sitting around daydreaming about having fun at work, you should do something besides work. Live a little, before you're too old and get a hangover after smelling wine."

"Thanks, Mike. I’ll take you up on that offer someday. You're a good guy for always trying to help me out."

His hand tapped my cubicle wall twice, signaling his departure. I decided to buckle down and get a few calls out of the way so I wouldn't get fired for failing to meet weekly quota.

"Hello Mr. Gano, my name is Jackson with Medialive, and I'd like to take a few moments of your day to--"

"No." The line clicked, to my relief.

Thank God for people like Mr. Gano. They don't bring me any closer to earning a monthly bonus, but most of the time, I just don't care.

#

At 11:30AM on the dot, I decided to take my lunch break and get some fresh air--it's a bit claustrophobic, being stuffed in a cubicle for hours, the grey walls of it slowly closing in and crushing me. I always got lunch at Harry's Deli, this great little hole-in-the-wall shop that makes a beautiful reuben and the best fries in town.

"Hey, Jax," the cashier greeted me cheerfully. I have no idea why she was always so happy. "The usual, right? That'll be $6.74."

I handed her a worn ten dollar bill. "Yep, you got it. Thanks, Clara--you can keep the change."

"Aww, you're so nice! Enjoy the meal!"

"You t--" — I caught it before it came out all the way — "Take care now."

Whew, that was a close one.

I waited by the counter for my food, staring into the refrigerated display case full of baked goods; a rainbowed myriad of cupcakes and cookies decorated in vibrant colors, lush cakes and brownies. Harry's has something for everyone, and if for some reason they don't, you can request an addition to their menu.

As I lost myself in the swirl of a red velvet cupcake, a voice echoed in my head. "Jackson? Jackson? Hello, Earth to moron. Wakey-wakey."

At first I thought an annoyed employee was trying to hand over my order, but there was no one behind the counter; the noise's belligerent source had crept up beside me, a short woman with rose-dyed hair, and offered no food.

"Hey, Diane. You here to get lunch, too?" Smooth, as always.

"No, I just enjoy the smell of lunchmeat," she retorted, elbowing my side. "This place is a favorite of mine."

I ruffled my hair, chuckling at myself. Do I rib her back? No, right? That's weird.

"Yeah, of course, I don't know why I asked such a dumb question. How are you? How's Sam doing? I heard he's been sick lately."

"He's holding up, thanks for asking. We're all positive about his remission, and he's a fighter." There was a slight hint of uncertainty in her downcast eyes, but she truly seemed to believe the statement.

"That's great to hear! You look really tired, by the way. Long night?" I asked with a bad wink and playful tone.

"Very funny. No, actually, I went to bed at a normal time, pretty boring night. I just had some pretty crazy dreams and slept like crap."

"Huh. Story of my life. What kind of dr--oh, my sandwich. Sorry, one second."

Hugo--the main chef at Harry's, real nice guy--handed me a wrinkled brown bag with my Reuben and fries, smiling like he always did. "Here, Mr. Grey. Fresh for you."

His accent was thick, but clear enough to understand--what baffled me was not his English, but how happy he always seemed despite working in a deli at forty or fifty, handing people grease-soaked bags of food like they were actually bags of gold and he was a stocky, Portuguese leprechaun. I thanked him with less than equivalent enthusiasm and turned back to Diane, who was second in line to place an order. I tried to come up with something to say, but she punched my shoulder and broke the silence for me.

"Get back to work, lazy."

I smiled. "Yeah. Not a bad call. Don't want to piss the boss off. Again."

The air outside was brisk, yet not painfully cold, as winter was on its way out in the Virginian equivalent of spring. There wasn't much of a walk to enjoy the weather, and within minutes I was back at Medialive--where the ads are livelier than the employees.

The rest of the day was excruciatingly uneventful, dragging by like a dog's ass on carpet. I made my quota and drove a battered '07 Civic home, mind churning with what I'd set up for the night. Sometimes I'd go to the gym and bike a bit before going back to the apartment, but usually I wanted a little extra time to plan and prepare before Maya joined.

I poured two cups of orange juice into my blender and tossed in a frozen banana with a scoop and a half of vanilla protein powder, which helped keep my body fairly nourished through the long night. As I watched the juice swirl into a softer, creamy orange-beige, my phone flashed with life.

From: Mike

Jax, come on over to the Golden Monkey for a few drinks. You shouldn't just sleep your life away, man. I know you get all those headaches, but it shouldn't stop you from living.

'Sorry, Mike, but sleeping my life away isn't all that bad' is what I wanted to respond with, but I opted to simply thank him and say I'd take a raincheck. I felt bad for lying about the headaches, but I had work to do--and it's not like he'd believe the truth, anyway. No one would.

My protein shake was downed within moments, the sleeping pills quickly following suit. I placed the blender in the sink and filled it with water, brushed my teeth, and hurried into bed. One last time, I glanced over a few notes I'd layed out about the Yuurish, scribbled amongst pages of ideas and rough sketches. A reverse dream journal that held my world in its binding.

It became difficult to read after a little while as the pills kicked in, and I lobbed the notebook onto my nightstand, tossing a few times in bed. What I thought of in the waning moments of wakefulness was not of sieges and starlight, but the stupid question I'd asked Diane earlier.

"I just like the smell of lunchmeat."

It was a funny retort, but why did I always fumble with words around pretty girls? Or, honestly, with just about anyone? My head heavied, swallowed by a down pillow, and darkness overcame me.

Falling asleep is the best feeling in the world.

#

It's nice waking up to the kiss of sunlight rather than the slap of an alarm clock.

Even though dreaming was as natural as being awake, if not more, it was still a little strange opening my eyes so soon after closing them. There's a peculiarity to the mind being awake while the body is sleeping, a sort of tingling, ghostly presence in the back of my head. Thankfully, occupying myself was always enough to override the feeling and fully immerse myself--but the act of waking just never felt right to me.

I sat up and stretched, silk sheets floating off my body and down to the bed as warmth spilled upon me through huge windows lining our bedroom wall. As usual, I hopped out of bed and spread the bi-folding glass doors separating our bedroom from an expansive balcony adorned with potted flowers of every color. Butterflies fluttered around in the true spring air, their wings a stunning blur of onyx, orange and ocean blue. It was such a lovely day, warm and absent of humidity, a light breeze ruffling through my hair and soft, billowy clouds floating through the sky without a care in the world.

Perfection.

After a few minutes spent reveling in relaxation, I clad myself in armor and strapped on the belt that housed Somnior. Down the staircase, through the entrance hall and out into the courtyard, a sudden commotion caused me to start. I approached the scratchy sound, following it to the main entrance.

Ugh, I forgot about them.

Disgruntled and still on edge, I stormed off toward the outer gate, continuing my journey as two bats flapped wildly through the air around me like thunderclouds born of my annoyance. I examined the outer wall's perimeter to the erratic soundtrack of beating wings, scanning its weaknesses and obvious points of entry--the most blatant of which was a dip in the wall, to the castle rear. Thankfully, both the armory tower and our personal chambers have a trebuchet of sorts sitting atop them to fight off initial combatant waves--assuming that Maya doesn't just open the front gate and invite them in for tea and slaughter.

Once I'd returned to within the castle walls, I ascended the armory tower, onto the roof, and peered around in search of any signs of Yuurishmen marching in the distance. To my relief, not even a single leaf was rustling suspiciously in any direction. It would have been a disaster if the siege had started before Maya arrived. Not because they'd destroy me, but because she'd destroy me for fighting without her.

Bits of straw sailed through the air as I hacked at a pell with a wooden training sword, over, under, and cross-slashing it while keeping my footwork swift. Once it had been sufficiently beaten and broken, I returned to our chambers, where a piece of parchment waited on my writing desk.

Dearest Reza,

I can't believe you didn't see me on your way up. The bats definitely have better vision than you.

Get back to work, lazy.

My eyes fixated on the final line. Moments later, Maya jumped out from under the bed. The entirely stoic reaction she received was a mix of shock and confusion.

"You're so boring," she said, crossing her arms. "Why're you just standing there, looking at the note all funny, anyway?"

I set the parchment back on my desk. "Just some deja-vu, I guess. Doesn't matter."