A Light In Darkness

I wake to a wall of darkness. Waving my hand in front of my eyes, I test the void. Nothing. My shallow breathing is the only sound in the space. Unsure if the room spans a meter, or a kilometer, I call out.

“Hello?”

My voice dangles briefly before being swallowed by silence. Palpable silence—the kind that floods into other senses.

My heartbeat quickens and lungs tense as shallow breath becomes sharp. 

“Where am I?” I cry, attempting to fill the vacuum with something. Anything.

“Oh, you’re awake?” The voice is sweet and young. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”

“What is this place?”

“Your mind. Bleak, huh?” the child chuckles. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve fallen into a coma, Matt. So this is your new home, for the time being.” A warm hand takes mine and my pulse slows. Energy radiates from the child’s palm, relieving the pressure in my lungs and allowing a deep breath. “Don’t worry, though. You’re not alone.”

“Who are you?” I ask, blinking hard to escape this confusing dream. Coma? It can’t be...

“I’m a part of you—or at least I was once. Now I live here, too.” The hand slackens slightly.

“What do you mean?” I feel like a broken record, but nothing the child says makes sense.

“It would be easier to show you. Close your eyes and open your heart. Then you’ll see.”

I obey. The darkness dissolves, displaced by a bright room with white walls moving out into eternity. Next to me is a little boy, a boy I recognize immediately from early family portraits and home-movies—it’s a thirteen-year-old version of me. He’s wearing a red and blue Barcelona jersey, grey basketball shorts, and an eager expression. Something in his eyes feels old—wise beyond his, or even my current, years. 

“Hello!” he says, shaking my hand. 

My eyes are wide with shock as the boy puts my hand down and gazes around the room.

“Much better. Well, I promised to show you who I was, so let me do that. This is going to get confusing. For ease, you can call me Somni. ”

Somni sweeps his hand and the walls disappear. We’re outside, above us an azure sky, untouched by clouds, warms our faces. A child is playing in a grassy yard—me again, this time seven. He’s hopping in front of our tan home, brandishing a bent branch and rallying an unseen army.

“Do you remember what I was showing you that day?”

“Showing me?” I mutter, rapt by the two younger versions of myself in view. What the heck is happening?

Somni beams at me, as he does the grass, sky, and house disappear. My seven-year-old self’s clothing changes as well—he’s wearing chain-mail, the stick has become a broadsword. Flanking at his side, an army of mages and lions turn to heed his command.

In front of them lies a sea of orc-like creatures, riding scarlet dragons and silver wolves. 

“For the kingdom!” the young boy cries and charges to battle, parrying an approaching arrow with ease. 

“This is incredible, like a scene from a movie.” I stare wide-eyed at the world Somni has created.

“Inspired by a couple movies, in fact! We used to play like this for hours. I’d give you the most amazing worlds to explore.” Somni has a sad smile on his face as he watches the young boy dance through his opponents.

The scene loses focus and I see a nine-year-old version of myself sitting in a red Camry, driving across the barren, yellow planes of Nevada. Simon and Garfunkel are droning in the background—it must have been dad’s turn to pick the music. Somni and I are sitting by the child, watching him gaze through the window. 

I turn to Somni. “What were you showing me that day?”

He motions. The car disappears and my nine-year-old self falls into a nosedive, piercing a pink cloud and emerging into the open sky, doused and with brown eyes blazing. He’s soaring through the air, doing backflips and compelling the clouds to part, to reform, and to stream behind him. 

My lips curl into a smile. I do remember this one. 

“I used to love thinking about flying through the air. I could do it for hours.”

“I never let you get bored,” Somni asserts. “You did your part, too. You kept me on my toes, I never would have guessed you’d want the clouds to follow you around.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I let my mind wander like that.”

“It’s been a while.”

We’re back in the bare room. Somni’s eyes dart away as I turn my attention to him. His hands are curled together, his small shoulder slumped. 

“Why don’t you show me another?” I venture. 

He nods.

For hours, Somni shows me the worlds he created for me as a boy. I surfed tsunamis, flew to far-away planets, and found hidden treasure deep in the ocean. He even animated scenes from my favorite books as I read them, making me a wizard, a knight, a king. I recognize some of the memories, most feel foreign, though.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why did this all stop?”

“When you were thirteen, you stopped inviting me into your world. You stopped reading books. Too concerned with being cool, then with homework, now with your career, you left me behind. The only times I see you now are in your dreams. I still create wild adventures for you there, but they last seconds, and their memories are gone faster than I can make new ones.”

Somni drops to the cold floor and starts doodling into the white tiles, avoiding eye-contact. 

I try to remember any recent dreams, but the only ones that come to mind are stress nightmares about missing paperwork and an angry boss.

“Is that why you started giving me nightmares about work?”

Somni jumps up, his eyes lit with indignation. “I would never!” He holds my gaze and I bite my lower lip, unsure how to respond. “Isn’t it sad that the dreams you remember are the ones that you taint with your own world? With the world that’s pulled you away, kept you from me, from the part of yourself that brings you the most joy?”

He sits back down and starts drawing once more. I let out a slow breath and sit next to him. “You’re right. I haven’t let myself dream in years. I’ve been worried about what I should be doing, the work I need to accomplish.” It all felt silly, now. No annual salary, bonus, or promotion would change the white walls that held me in the room. They wouldn’t make up for lost laughter, unseen worlds, or for my severed relationship with Somni. 

I stare at the thirteen-year-old embodiment of everything I’ve come to ignore in my adult life. Determination flares, and I put my hand on his.

“Don’t worry, that will all change.”

“No, it won’t. But that’s okay. I’ll always be here to animate your dreams.”

“Of course it can change!”

“Matt, this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. It’s the 365th to be exact. Though I do perceive it will be our last.”

My heart freezes. 365th. Have I been out for 365 days? For a year? 

I’m scared to ask the question that his statement begs. “Why will this be our last?” I manage, my voice faltering. 

“Oh dear, no!” he says, gripping my hand. “You’re not dying! Sorry, I can be melodramatic sometimes. Every day, our conversations have gotten more and more lucid. I’ve been able to take you further into the past. You’ll wake up today, your mind is almost fully recovered.”

My thoughts turn to the world outside of these walls. To cubicles, late nights, and vacuous reports. “I’m not sure I want to go back.” I whisper. 

“It’s too late for all that. Open your eyes, and you’ll see.” The voice is distant, but I can still feel the heat of his hand around mine. “It’s okay, I’ll always be here. Even if you forget, I won’t.”

I open my eyes to a sheet of white. A long curtain, drawn partially back, separates me from the remainder of the space. The muffled conversation from a television set in the upper corner fills the air with meaningless buzz. 

My head feels heavy, my thoughts disoriented, but a smile cuts into my face as I look around the hospital room. I feel lingering warmth on my fingertips.

“I won’t forget.”