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This was stupid…another night, another nightmare, and another heluva hard time trying to figure out where in heaven’s name these were coming from.
Sure, he’d dreamed about the trip to the desert…that was a recurring nightmare since he was eleven. Some how his parents didn’t remember and made him feel like he was mad to even come up with something like that. But that wasn’t like these. Just like that one felt real, so did these ones; however, unlike that nightmare, which he knew he had been apart of, none of the others felt that way. They all just felt like something that he shouldn’t know about, but did. Something he should’ve been able to prevent but couldn’t.
So, here he was, sitting on a park bench at 11 o’clock at night with nothing over his clothes but a light coat…