The sun was starting to set on the horizon, tinting the sky a rosy pink. Wake lay down on the beach as the fine sand seeped therapeutic coolness into his sore back and the ocean breeze gently lifted his hair. It was a nice place, he had to admit. He had often complained about the hustle of New York City, with its flashing billboards and seemingly thoughtless throngs of people. Picori Island was the polar opposite, with nature at its most serene and a handful of residents who were all very cultivated in their thoughts. Sometimes Wake was afraid that he enjoyed the island a little too much; but then, an image of his poor mother sobbing helplessly by his hospital bed would flash into his mind. He would tighten his fingers around the flute and renew his determination to deliver Picori Island to its Doomsday.

“Sup, Wake!”
Wake was startled out of his trance.
“Oh, hello there, Tracy,” he said, assuming a sitting position. Tracy settled down about half an arm’s length away from him. She was panting, her face was flushed, and she was hugging a golden egg to her chest. “I see you’ve been egg-hunting in the jungles again?”
“Yeah,” said Tracy breathlessly. “This one was a really close call. The darn pterodactyl almost pooped on me.” Wake raised an eyebrow. “Its poop is radioactive, apparently.”
Wake grinned half-heartedly and resumed staring out into the sunset.
“What is it with you and sunsets?” Tracy sighed impatiently.
“I guess…it’s at this time of day when the island feels most like a dream,” Wake replied with a shrug.
“That’s ‘cause it is a dream, smart one,” said Tracy, rolling her eyes. “You of all people should know that.” She breathed in the ocean air contentedly. “I don’t get you, Wake. Why would you trade this for real life? You must’ve had a pretty sick life.”
Wake’s fingers tightened around the flute in his pocket. Were they really going to argue about this again?
“It’s not that, Tracy,” he explained for the umpteenth time. “It’s just that my mom is worried about me and I don’t want to die sleeping in a hospital bed. I need to wake up and be there for her.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Tracy jeered. “Still planning to visit the god of Picori Island?”
“Yeah,” Wake said defiantly. “I’m going to summon Zarathustra and ask him to destroy this dream island so that we can all wake up, even if it means climbing up Mount Picori.”
“Climbing up Mount Picori isn’t exactly a cakewalk,” said Tracy, her tone mocking. “All those monsters—you do know that if you die in this dream, you die in real life, right?”
Yes, Wake was aware of that. This wasn’t the first time she had reminded him.
“What do you have against waking up?” Wake demanded. “Doesn’t it occur to you that some people might miss you?”
“No one really cares whether I wake up or not, thank you very much,” Tracy said sharply.
“Don’t kid me,” Wake snapped. “I see you get bottle messages from your mother every day. You tear them up as soon as they reach the shore. Besides, your parents must care about you. They’ve kept you alive on the meds for what, four months now? It takes a lot of money to keep someone in the hospital for that long.”
Tracy clenched her teeth.
“That’s great. Just great, you know. My mom cares about me enough to keep me alive.” She punched the sand floor. “You have no idea how much I hated the real world! All those hollow, empty people, who couldn’t see anything past their stupid love interests, their heartless gossiping, and their oh-so-amazing celebrities. I had to live with all that, every single day, without end. Just the way life repeated itself killed me!”
Wake was momentarily stunned by Tracy’s sudden emotional outburst, but quickly regained his calm, critical stance.
“Looks like you never took the time to get to know people on a personal level,” he said. “People are hardly as ‘empty’ as they seem on the outside, once you get to know them. You just have to change your mind set,” he finished, gently.
There was a thoughtful pause.
“You’re right,” Tracy muttered. “There’s nothing terribly wrong with society. There’s just something wrong with me. I fit in well enough on the outside but, on an intimate level, I could never truly relate with anyone, even my friends. I know this sounds conceited, but I always felt like I didn’t belong in that world. I felt like I should’ve been born somewhere else, in a world of adventure and total freedom. I read fiction, listened to music, played video games—anything to escape that mundane world for something more, just for a while.”

The orange sun was barely peaking above the waves now.
“You know,” Wake mused, “It’s funny that you mention video games. I always thought this whole situation was like locking yourself up in a room for months, years on end, playing the same video game. Eventually, your real life is shattered, but as long as you’re having fun in your fake video game world, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“I’d rather play this video game than real life,” said Tracy vehemently. “Did I ever tell you how I got here? I ran away from school one day and just started walking along the highway. I was in a pretty bad mood. So this car filled with drunk teenagers was speeding by and I kind of stepped right in its way. I was supposed to die, but I ended up in a coma, like everyone else here. You know, nobody knows I tried to commit suicide. My mom said in one of her bottle messages that the drunk teens were all sentenced to ten years.”
She waited for Wake to say something, but he was too appalled, so she continued, “I’d always pray that I could wake up one day in a world full of adventure, where each day wasn’t the same as the day before. And truly, my prayer was answered—this island is everything I’ve ever hoped for.” She leaned a little closer to Wake. “You know…what if there are other islands in this ocean, other dream islands, where people go to when they sleep? We could build a boat or something, just you and me, and visit those other islands. Not that there isn’t enough to do here.”
Wake shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Trace. I—look. It’s getting kind of late. Hey, the bottle messages are coming.”

Sure enough, dozens of green glass bottles containing rolled-up sheets of parchment were bobbing up and down in the waves, making their way toward the island. The other islanders, knowing the time of day, began to gather at the shore, chattering animatedly as their messages bobbed toward them.
“Oh, lookee,” old Mr. Norris exclaimed. “My wife told me that the kids’re doing great! The older one’s still at Stanford and the little one’s just got accepted at Princeton!”
“Wow! Looks like they’re doin’ fine without their old man,” Mr. Norris’s friend joked.
“Oh, I’m not their old man. Those are the other kids, y’know, the kids she had when she remarried. My kid…” he scanned the roll of parchment. “Oh, she mentions him here. Yeah, he’s going to jail for drug-dealing.”
Tracy raised an eyebrow.
“Looks like he’d rather stay on the island,” she muttered.
Wake ignored her and scoured the bottles for his message. At last, he found one labeled with his name. He pulled off the cork and let the parchment fall onto his hand. It was the sheet music for a lullaby—his mother must have been singing to him like she did when he was young. Perhaps one day he could learn to play it on the flute, instead of practicing Zarathustra’s Summoning Song every day.

He looked for Tracy and saw her alone, a few yards away from the crowd. She was holding her sheet of parchment in her hand, and, if Wake wasn’t mistaken, there were tears in her eyes. Wake jogged over to her side.
“Tracy? Are you ok?”
The two of them began walking away from the throng of chattering people.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was shaking. Without bothering to ask, Wake took her bottle message from her and read: Tracy, things are very hard for me without you. The doctors are saying they should take you off by now. I’m running out of money, having to support you and your dad. His cancer just spread to his throat and he can’t speak anymore. It’s so hard, because the two people I love most can’t talk to me. Tracy, please wake up. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve said and done. I love you –Mom. Wake was furious.
“Look, Tracy, your mom needs you! How could you stay here, knowing all the suffering she’s going through? How could you be so selfish?”
“I—I don’t know! Just shut up and leave me alone!” She sunk to the ground and began sobbing in her hands. Wake knelt down beside her and hugged her gently.
“Listen, Trace. I’m going to wake all of us up so that you can be there for your mom. Please…”
Tracy wiped away her tears. For a whole minute, neither of them said a word. Finally, Tracy murmured, “So…when are you going up the mountain?”
Wake smiled.
“Right now.” Tracy gave him a surprised, tear-stained look. “It looks like more than a few of us are limited on time,” he explained.
“You’re right,” Tracy agreed, nodding, as Wake got to his feet.
“Hey, Tracy,” he said, offering her a hand, “Would you like to escort me to the mountain?”
Tracy pulled herself up and smiled.
“I’d be honored.”

Wake’s final jungle adventure with Tracy was the best—the kind of stuff that only the subconscious can produce. Finally, laughing and panting for air, the two friends found themselves at the foot of the dark, looming mountain. After exchanging somber words of caution and encouragement, Wake began heading up the mountain. Tracy had wondered whether they would remember this dream and each other when they awoke, and now Wake was pondering this. They had memorized each other’s phone numbers before they had parted, but would they remember? The thought that he would most likely never see or think about Tracy again made his heart as gloomy as the path he was taking. He sighed and pressed forward as the shadow of the mountain fell over him. Wake’s dream was about to become a nightmare.