《Good Morning, Mr. Kay》one.

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Eve's large, luxurious ears flicked slightly in the midst of White Space, an incredible dimensional bridge between countless worlds. Mr. Kay gazed uneasily up at his comforter and guardian in the slightly gelid air, and he pulled his droopy pajama sleeves further over his bluish hands, trying to ward off the cold.

"Good morning, Mr. Kay."

The familiar greeting crept through Mr. Kay's ears, almost haunting and painful. It was something he had heard every calendar day for the past three months, one week, and two days, and he gazed up at the doyen of mental treatment. That was at least what she considered herself to be.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your Zen?" she muttered, her voice halting like they were encapsulated in a soundproof chamber, imprisoning them from the treacherous and cruel reality that awaited outside of this strange, vacant world.

"A seven," Mr. Kay replied, his sunken eyes surrounded by puffy gray skin. Sleep had been slaughtered by the curse of insomnia for the past 34 and a half hours, but the deprivation had actually served as some sort of strange rush. He felt illuminated by it.

Eve brought up her hooved paws to her chest, showing she was proud of the numeric. "An improvement from last week! You averaged a rating of 4.7 from March second to March eighth."

Mr. Kay lowered his foggy eyes to his bare toes. White Space was very confusing to the simple human brain; where there was no ground there was a floor. Ceilings were walls but also everything was infinite and nothing. He was standing on something, but he could be sideways right now or diagonal or inverted. Eve understood it. She lived there.

"Do you know what is making you feel better?" she politely inquired, her voice kind like warm summer swimming pools and reddish fall trees.

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"No."

"That is alright, but I would recommend you think about it today."

"Okay."

"Have you made any art lately?"

Mr. Kay hesitated before he shook his head, and his thick black hair swished across his wrinkled forehead. His medical profession had horribly aged him; the stress made him appear to be in his late forties. He was a mere age of thirty four.

"Your assignments today are to figure out what is making today better and to plan an art piece. Anything you like."

"Okay."

Mr. Kay removed a simplistic dry erase marker from his deep pocket. It is nothing special, just something you can purchase from the store for half a dollar, but White Space was empty but also saturated with anything you could desire.

"I have something for you before I leave," Mr. Kay said as he popped the ebony cap off, and the dark ink began to stain the air as he created a three dimensional sketch. The beveled illustration started to take form, and Eve pulled her hands up to her face.

"You're making me a new mask," she breathed underneath her current facial covering, and thick black straps secured it to her fluffy head.

Mr. Kay smiled as his drawing became completed, and he jerked his hands above his head. The line art soared into the vast whiteness, and a ripple of power and explosive energy burst from it as the dimension made the idea into matter. The now physical mask dropped back into Mr. Kay's outstretched hands, and he gave it to Eve. She was taken aback at the sudden gift, and she soon brought it into her own arms, admiring the details.

"Thank you, Mr. Kay. I love everything you create. How is your book coming along?"

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Mr. Kay rubbed his heel on the floor. "I trashed it."

"How come?"

"It is better as a comic book." He smirked to himself, excited at the prospect of his story becoming visual. "That is my next art piece."

"An ambitious project, but I know you will succeed."

Mr. Kay nodded hopefully to Eve and bowed to her, and she returned the elegant gesture.

"I will return after work," Mr. Kay said.

"Remember to breathe, Mr. Kay. Enjoy your day."

Mr. Kay left Eve, and he found the door back to the world we are familiar with. He slid the white panel aside, and back in his home, the back wall to his fireplace scooted aside. He crawled over the blackened ashes and slipped the door closed. Mr. Kay sat upon the brick hearth and buried his head in his knees.

He was not a seven.

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