Whether I can trust in Neil, the man staring at me across the cramped little alley – figment of my imagination – or not; I suppose it doesn’t matter.

What makes him so special, when contrasted to the uncounted multitude of others… I should know, but I don’t… want to.

He says things I should understand but don’t, and explains things I shouldn’t have understood at all. Belief is a factor, I know, but I don’t have a reason not to. And he makes as much sense now as anything does. It’s simple nature to want to live, even in impossible circumstances. Apparently, even to sink so deep into the mind as to escape life without dying.

"You have three choices; try to live here," akin to comatose, "let go," die, "or try to wake up now, and face reality; which, in itself, could be death." All dependant on what’s happened there.

Actually, I take that as two choices: die in the world, the real world, or live here in a dream. A vivid dream, I’ll admit, but… not real.

There’s also the question of what the real world is now, or what it’s become.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to make a decision."

"What about the others?" The bits of people, pieces of… souls, that I’ve collected over my lifetime; what do they want?

"They know it’s your choice," a glimpse of something, but I don’t know what it was, "They won’t argue, n’ll hold back any that do."

"I don’t like that,"

"Your mind shouldn’t be a… a democracy for people that aren’t you. Especially since they didn’t even know they existed until they woke up just a bit ago."

That’s not the entire problem. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t know what I do.

"If you stay here long enough, you might forget. If you die… you might forget."

But… that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Memory. I want to keep my memory, even if it’s not so much; it’s something.

"If you die here…"

"What about them?" Those people and this world I dreamt up, "What happens to them if I don’t stay?"

"When I was a kid, I used to think I’d create a new realities with my imagination,"

"…So?"

"So, if you think well of them, they should be okay."

"What about you?"

"I’m stuck with you, no matter what and like it or not…. I don’t really mind."

"I’m…" what? What am I going to do? "I want to think about this." So he shrugs – not the most encouraging response.

I can’t think of any other alternatives. Nothing to be said that hasn’t been already.

I can hear both worlds, each with its own strange sounds. One is calling out of… maybe out of necessity and the other because it’s natural. I have to leave one of them behind.

Asleep or awake; live or die.

Exist or… don’t.