“So why are you really here?” she asked in a gentle, soft voice. I waited. I didn’t really know why. I was sent here. I was forced to go here.
“I don’t really know,” I confessed. She paused too. I guess that’s why I kind of like this woman. She was like me in so many ways.
“I understand,” she said, gazing down into her hands that were folded gracefully into her lap. “I guess no one really knows what their doing, huh?” she giggled, lightening the mood.
“Yea,” I half-heartedly smiled.
“I know I don’t know what I’m doing,” she smirked. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”
“Yea,” I said again. A slight frown formed over the woman’s face. Silence filled the room.
“So when did it all start?” she asked, returning to our original subject.
I paused again. I’ve probably thought about this over a thousand times. Finally I answered.
“I guess it all started when I started going there: to the place I envied the most.”
“And where was that?” she asked in a manner that made me relax more than I have in awhile.
“I’d rather not name it,” I stated.
“But, I think you should,” she pushed.
“I’ll call it ‘Reality’” I said reassuringly.
“Why ‘Reality’?” she asked, obviously confused. What an odd name, the woman was most likely thinking.
“Because,” I said casually, “I realize now that it wasn't a place I should envy, but somewhere I should fear.”
"And why's that?" she pushed further.
"Because Dylan was there," I muttered.
