The dreams were more frequent now. From once every so often, to every night, to several times a night to now. They had started to spill over into his waking moments. Vivid slices of another reality impacting on his normality. It was most disconcerting.
The doctor just laughed it off as overwork, yet he knew it was more than that.
His life was not what you would call exciting. He had done the usual expected thing. Met a girl in college, dated, got engaged, married and had two kids. He had a steady job that afforded him the lifestyle that society expected him to have at this stage of his life.
Yet his dreams were of some other person. Someone who looked a lot like he could have, had he taken another turn. At first he had enjoyed the dreams as a distraction from his everyday life. As they continued, they became more real. Colours and smells filtered through the dreamworld and stuck in his memory. He could taste the other world when he woke. Like a drug it had left him wanting more.
Of course he fought that. He was happy, he really was. That is what he was told and why would he not believe them.
Yet the man appeared every night. Bass guitar slung low and tattoos adorning a more toned body. The hand reaching out to him every time.
Then the other him started to speak.
“Join me” it would plead with him, “this is not you.”
At that point the man would wake up in a sweat. Look at his wife and force himself to think kindly of her. He hated that. Hated himself for even thinking that.
The daydreams were full of bright lights and euphoric feelings through music. Each and every time the other him would say the same thing “That is not you, this is you. Join me.”
One day, unable to take it any longer, he took the hand.