There is an odd sense of calmness found in one's own bed. It keeps one from moving in those first few moments of consciousness. It allows the soul to stand still, safe; thinking that there will always be comfort. This calm feeling, however, is always overpowered by another force. School is awaiting the soul. The farce that is known as a job waits to sap at our soul. Social institutes have become little more than societies of false identity. Tezca let his mind fight against the need for school for a few more minutes. He was presented with images that would never be a reality. His memories were melded with his dreams. He was in state of consciousness, but within this state, he was enveloped in a cloud of hazy ideas. Its lack of sense fought against the logical part of his mind. School had no meaning in a world where there was no one but him. This world had very little hope, though. Within moments it was invaded by a stray conquistador. A sharp and malicious army came at him, weapons held high, red and glowing. They blinked in and out of sight. The battle cry emitted was a flurry of sharp staccato bursts tinged in contempt. He leaned over and slapped at his alarm clock, and rubbed at his eyes.

He sat there for a long set of moments. His brain tried to warm up to life. He gazed at his room, a culmination of all his life. If he were to die that moment, his whole life would be summarized by the items that were strewn across the room's floor and furniture. The dresser that took up all of a wall was a combination of drawers and random oddities that he felt described his life. His actuality. CD's scattered themselves throughout the room. An array of stuffed animals lingered in the corners and along the headboard of a second and smaller bed. The closet door was opened and inside he saw a few pieces of clothes and a towel, but taking up the majority of space was a bookcase, covered in stacks of books, magazines, and random papers. Pictures of him surrounded by friends and family lined the edges of a mirror that stretched from the dresser to just below the ceiling. As he stood up, still groggy and filled with the remains of the dream world he was leaving, he stared at himself.

He stood at six feet two inches, something that he took pride in. His hair was a mass of interlocked strands that would never be tamed. It curled and waved at odd intervals and in the dim pink glow cast through curtains of solid white, it changed from its usual night black to a color in between black and gray that seemed surreal and traced with light. His face was defined by its ability to go from one extreme to another in one sudden move. This meant that when he was in the twilight of his mind, between sleep and life, it fell into a very blank and almost dragged version of itself. His eyes were a dark brown, under heavy eyelids that were always somewhat shut, partly because of a medical condition that meant one eye couldn't dilate, but possibly more importantly because of a perpetual air of tiredness he could never escape from. He closed them for a few seconds and saw himself in his mind. His tall body balanced with broad shoulders. He walked out of the room and headed for the shower.

Underneath the rush of water he felt his mind awaken. It sorted through the images around him. A wall, white and tiled; a door of distorting glass separating him from the rest of the world. In the murmur of the water he felt a similarity to the calm he felt in bed. He finished up and headed back to his room. He put on a faded pair of jeans and a brown button down shirt. He stood, once more in front of his mirror. He let himself drift in this sense of quiet for just a moment longer and then reached for a pair of glasses off the nightstand. He placed them on and, perched along the line of his nose, they sharpened everything about him. His face shifted from a vacant stare to a curious wonder. The costume was complete. He left, grabbing a messenger bag backpack, and walked out of the middle class house.

Outside he felt the sun, still warm even in the beginning of fall. His mind wandered as began the trek to school. He wasn't thinking when he sighed almost inaudibly but with hard desperation, and he quickly scolded himself for it. He had let the façade slip, and even for a second that was unacceptable. He recovered quickly, glad to have been alone, and went on. His mind went to the appropriate material. He had a test later on. After school he had to talk to Mr. Narssus about his paper. He and his friends would be meeting up on Friday to go and see a movie. There were things to think about and there was no time for any outside influence to intervene. There was a script and he ran through it flawlessly, controlling even his mind, only allowing the right thoughts to pass. Around him even the weather followed the pattern, bringing on a warmth that would last until the beginning of October, just like always—just like it was supposed to be.