‘And these dreams… when did they begin?’

The room is dimly lit, blinds drawn to block out the glare from the gleaming skyscraper across the street.

The couch is a cliche. As is the hundred dollar an hour shrink with the little notepad.

‘Months. It’s been months. But being chased, that’s new.’ Alex feels like he’s reading off a script. He hears the words come from his mouth, but doesn’t fully register what he’s saying.

‘And how does it feel?’

‘How does what feel?’ Alex turns to look at the doctor. He’s seated some distance from him, face partially hidden in shadow.

‘The feeling when you realize there’s something chasing you.’

Alex narrows his eyes and tries to remember how he got here. ‘I’m… not sure. In some ways, it feels better. Almost, a relief. After all this time, I’m not just running.’

The doctor nods and jots something in his notepad. He doesn’t seem to be holding a pen. ‘And do you think that having something to run from, helps?’ He looks up and smiles.

Alex stares back at dark sockets, like black buttons sewn onto a crudely made doll. ‘How… how did I get here?’

‘Thing about dreams, you always end up in the middle. No beginning. No end.’

‘Another thing they don’t always tell you about dreams… sometimes, you don’t wake.’

‘Now. I’d suggest you start running.’