That night I did all of my studying...well kind of. Eventually I got bored of the same old material, watched some t.v., scrounged around in my kitchen for food and then retired to my room for the night. Each night when I went to bed I would lay down, turn on some music and just zone out as I drifted off to sleep. It still took me a while for my mind to settle down, but without the music I would stay awake all night wrestling with thoughts. Sometimes I still do. My brain just couldn't get over the life I was living. Everything here felt like a haze. I had always wanted more from this life; more from my parents, from my schooling, from my house, from the people around me, and mostly I wanted more satisfaction in living. And maybe that makes me a lazy asshole, but I just want more from this life then a daily grind in a rainy grayscale town. I mean really, who came up with this shit? If there's a god why couldn't he add a bit of pizzaz to the day, maybe a bit brighter, or maybe a bit happier. Whatever gods there are up there, they ain't doin' shit for me.

Anyways, this particular night I had a hard time trying to get to sleep. Lately, when I go to bed I try to imagine colors. I mean it's a hopeless effort but I can spend hours racking my brain trying to create a color or even figure out how those are possible. And deep inside of me I have this inkling of a hope that maybe one night I'll dream of color, but I know that that wont happen either. So eventually I slept, after exhausting every possibility I could of these damn colors.

-That night I had kind of a strange dream. I was lying on my back in a cold and dark hospital room. My parents were standing next to the bed, my mother weeping, curled up in my fathers arms, seeking comfort for those things she could not understand. My fathers eyes shifted over to the door as the doctor walked in, seeking relief from my the hysterical women.
"Well..." said my father
The doctor looked uneasily at my parents.