Rask had been having the dream since he was very young. In fact, it was the only dream he could ever remember having. All the therapists his parents had taken him to as a child had told him that it was the product of some deep seeded phobia. “A manifestation of his subconscious, fear of the loss of control”. The doctor who said this had never met Rask, and only knew him from his case file. Despite psychology being a serious branch of science, as Rask had so often been reminded in his few years of therapy, he always found these explanations lacking.

The child they described must have been an emotional wreck. Fears, phobias? All Rask ever felt was numb. He never adequately understood what fear even was.

His entire life, the dream always reminded him of trying to watch an old TV with damaged antennas. It flashed from one scene to the next with no rhyme or reason. The images and scenes were always obscured, like a television channel drowned in snow. All of this made it almost impossible to remember much; in his first ten years having the dream, he was only able to remember a few small details well enough to verbalize them. The last few years, however, the dream seemed just a little clearer every time he had it.  

It always started off peaceful and serene. A soaring aerial view from cloudy blue skies of the most magnificent city Rask had ever seen. It sprawled, majestically, along a stretch of sandy coast. Decidedly foreign, the metropolis looked to be made entirely of sandstone, with buildings of all sizes. Some towered high above the rest, with parapets and balconies hundreds of feet above the ground. Rask always noticed that all of the fixtures on those towers, the edging on the windows, the railings on the balconies, were all trimmed in the most brilliant shade of blue he could imagine. Cerulean? Azure? None of them seemed to capture the intensity of the color. The city, and its beauty always haunted Rask; It looked ancient. Did ancient buildings even get that tall?  Floating silently over the city were glowing spheres of light, that shone brightly in all sorts of colors. Some of these spheres stood unmoving, but others drifted back and forth between the buildings, and some even shot out from the city, out over the sea and into the distance.

After a length of time Rask could never accurately recall, the dream always took a darker tone. He was flying again, but this time it was over desolate wastelands scattered with clusters of shattered rock.  Bright explosions of color lit up the sky like fireworks. They’re terrible. He always thought. Sinister. Next a high aerial view showed what had to have been hundreds of miles of burned fields and hills with what looked like small volcanoes spewing smoke into the sky.  Past the volcanoes was to be the same city from earlier in the dream, now ruined and burned. Above the metropolis were spheres of red light, slowly raining fire down onto it. Rask descended, the decimated city growing larger and larger as he fell to ground level. The sandstone towers were crumbled and burned. Carts covered in strange goods were tipped and destroyed. Dark scars were burned into the roads and buildings. The city was empty, but still the air was full of terror and panic. Carefully, Rask walked the ruins, approaching a city square. He was about to move through a miasma of smoke and soot, when he felt a presence on the other side of the dark veil. He couldn’t explain how, but it was as if his mind reached out and felt the other. Who’s there?

The piercing wail of the alarm clock seared through his sleep, and he sat up. It would always end there, just as whatever was in that city square was about to be revealed. Rask coughed.I really feel like I breathed in smoke. He lied back in his bed, and submerged himself in thought. 

When he was a child the dream was frightening, even terrifying, but as he grew it just became a mystery. Something his mind would always come back to when it was idle, a puzzle that eluded him. He had long since given up on therapists; they pushed too hard to put him on medication, and he honestly didn’t think it would do him any good. Rask had an aversion to any chemical that promised to change him, though he did have many of the symptoms the drugs purported to treat: sullen, unemotional, withdrawn. To call Rask Harris antisocial would largely be accurate.

As he climbed out of bed and into the shower, Rask’s mind unconsciously wandered back to the ruined world he had visited in his sleep. As the water ran off his ebony skin he envisioned the decimated metropolis he had grown to know so well. Where was it from? Had he seen it in some history special as a young child, and it burned itself into his psyche? The ancient Romans and Egyptians didn’t have skyscrapers, did they?
 
 After the shower he dressed, old jeans and a green and black raglan t-shirt, and grabbed his backpack.  On his way out, Rask ran into his mother. She told him there was breakfast, he thanked her, but wasn’t hungry. The morning light reflected off of her dark skin and her smile showed a deep kindness. Rask couldn’t help but think at times like this, they had been right about him: the dream affected the way he grew up. His brothers always seemed to be smiling. They took after his mother, and he didn’t take after anyone. Rask always looked so serious in his family’s pictures. He rarely frowned, but he never smiled. A particularly good therapist had told his parents that he was preoccupied, not living in the here and now. They were right, of course, Rask was living in the sky, above some city that may never have existed. But knowing doesn’t help. 

Even in the photos of him holding up trophies he looked the same. Many people looked upon his stoic nature with great amusement. When he was much younger, one of the other kids in his boxing class used to call Rask “Chuckles”. He was a skinny boy, clearly using his sense of humor to gain social standing that he didn’t actually deserve. Rask guessed he was put into the class by a parent or guardian looking to toughen him up. One day the skinny boy failed to block Rask’s left cross and it broke his nose. That made Rask smile.

After slipping on a sweatshirt and stepping out into the chill autumn air, Rask took a deep breath. It was mid October and the first frost had taken place a few days before. Generally the weather in New England did whatever it damn well pleased, but fall was the one thing people seemed to count on. It was every one's favorite season, even though sometimes it only lasted a few weeks, with summer and winter constantly creeping in on the margins.  However short its visits, it was always a welcome friend.

The streets on the way to the bus stop were covered in small yellow leaves. It had rained the day before, and the air was moist with the smell of earth. The stop itself was on a tall wooded hill beside a side street. Rask could peer down it and see all the way to the cranberry bogs that surrounded the neighborhoods. He had spent a lot of his childhood running through the woods, and had fallen all the way down this hill one winter.

Rask had no idea if the bus was early or late, his mind was still bounding through the woods. Stepping onto the bus Rask could see the other students on phones and laptops. Most of them are probably texting with the kid sitting next to them. He mused. Almost none of them were looking up, all entranced by the glow they held in their hands. Maybe I’m not the only one not living in the moment.

As he walked towards the rear of the bus he saw a small, brown haired boy staring at a tablet through his glasses. Mark had been Rask’s friend since his family had moved to the area in elementary school. An accomplished student, Mark had once told Rask that he learned by understanding the system behind things. “You have to look at the big picture before you can understand any of the parts” He had said. By middle school he was earning money repairing other students’ laptops.  

Rask had tried to get his friend into sports. Though he had very little traction with regards to football, or basketball, Mark was fascinated with the combat sports. A skilled grappler and a decent boxer, Mark was now a bigger fan of martial arts than Rask. Mark tried to help Rask become acclimated to technology, without much luck. Machines can be just as stubborn as people, Rask thought. They can’t be reasoned with.

“I don’t know what it is about amateur fighters in the Midwest.” The glassed boy said, fixated. “They just seem hungrier. I mean look at this, 6 fights on the card, all but one ending in knockout. And that one went the rounds with both fighters leaving on stretchers. Unbelievable.”  His face was washed in light the entire ride. His head would twitch back and forth as each fighter threw punches, and would flinch when a particularly brutal strike was landed, which would usually prompt him to show it to Rask in slow motion.

While Mark remained hypnotized, Rask just leaned against the window with his wrist over his eyes. He had been getting headaches for the last few weeks. They’d usually start the moment he got onto the bus and wouldn't fade away until after he got home. It was a dull, constant pain towards the front of his head, like a knot gently trying to pull itself apart in his brain. Over the counter medicine didn’t seem to do much of anything, just stress he thought to himself.

As the bus turned the corner Rask got his morning view of the Atlantic. Proximity to the ocean has to be the best part of living on the cape. Gazing out onto the endless plane where the sky meets the sea always gave him goose bumps. The sheer immensity of it always made Rask feel microscopic. How do people in the middle of the country keep their perspective? It can’t be good for humanity to think it’s the biggest thing on the Earth. This view always made his morning. It was the only redeemable part of the bus ride besides seeing Mark, and even then Rask was never very talkative in the morning. Waking up to the end of the world tends to do that to you.

The walk from the bus to homeroom to the gym was a blur, Rask didn’t remember saying goodbye to Mark. They’d see each other at lunch, but whenever possible Rask took gym as his first class of the day. The promise of it would always make it just a little easier to drag himself out of bed. Grabbing a basketball from a rack, Rask closed his eyes and took the shot. The ball hit the rim of the basket, spun around it and went through. Due his lithe, athletic appearance, people always expected Rask to focus on layups and rebounds, but there was a serenity to shots from farther down the court. Hearing familiar steps behind him Rask turned to see a tall girl with a small grin holding up her hands. Rask passed her the ball and she positioned and shot without saying a word, the brown hair in her ponytail tossed as the ball sailed into the basket. Her eyes showed such focus. For one glorious second, the shot was the only thing that mattered. She’s one of the only people I’ve ever met who is even the littlest bit like me.  Rask had met Mallory the first year of high school, but the two had become fast friends. Competitive by nature, Mallory had been captain of pretty much all of the girls' sports teams at one time or another, and relished a chance to take on any challenger.

After being put up against each other in a game of basketball their freshman year, which ended in exhaustion, they both realized that neither of them was what the other had expected. Mallory wasn’t the female athlete with a chip on her shoulder, and a compulsory need to prove that she was better than the boys. She just was.  Rask loved knowing Mallory would be at gym in the morning. Watching her knockdown players from the school’s football team was one of life’s rare joys. They would have let her join the team if she had wanted, but she had other sports to play and nothing to prove. None of them could catch her, and she was more than capable of knocking them down if they did. “Did you study for the physics test?” She inquired of Rask, her tone showing that she already knew the answer.

“I meant to, but I didn’t get around to it. I’m hoping Mark can explain some of it to me at lunch.”

“It must be nice.” She quipped back with a smirk. “Having your own personal study guide. All of the rest of us have to open books. You remember books, right Rask? They’re those things you can’t punch, or kick, or dodge.”

“I remember” he replied. Who says you can’t dodge?

“Alright kids, gather in, let’s get this show on the road,” they were interrupted by the instructor, Mr. Sullivan. He was a man in his late forties, and looked as fit as a marine. He had a short haircut, and wore a red polo short and khakis and a beaten tin whistle around his neck. His voice had the dry rasp of a man who had either smoked too many cigarettes or yelled for too many years. “Today we’re going to be playing dodge ball.” Most of the class let out a dismal groan, save for a few distinct cheers. Traditionally dodge ball was a middle school game. This might be because by high school the gulf of athletic talent between the top students and the bottom had grown so great that it was actually dangerous to pit the entire class against itself. Maybe better not to let the wolves have free reign with the sheep. But the first day of class, Mr. Sullivan had explained that high school gym was the last chance for a crucible. The last chance to burn away weakness and fear, before the students would go off to college, and become soft and weak. Mallory thought this concept was horrific, and she was probably right, but Rask saw some nobility in it. Though in practice this policy usually amounted to a lot of bruises, scrapes, cuts and bitter contempt.More fear, not less. “Team captains will be Harris and Miller”

Mallory rolled her eyes. She hated that Mr. Sullivan always picked the same team captains. He had some sort of Lord of the Flies type survival fantasy of pitting the two strongest males in his class against each other. “I’ll pick you, and you pick the rest of the team.” Rask offered. “You’re a lot better at picking than I am.” This was certainly true. Rask kept a running tally of the eight or nine most formidable young men and women in the class, but everyone not on that list just sort of blurred together, at least in gym class. Rask had once inspired a great deal of animosity when picking teams, After picking his top four, he calmly declared that Aaron pick whomever he wanted out of the rest, since the choice wouldn’t make much of a difference. This was a sound, logical decision, free of malice. But they hated me that day.  Mallory was at least as fast and adept as Rask, and was much better at creating team cohesion. What more could you want in a leader? But he wasn’t as sure if Mallory could see some inner strength that he couldn’t, or if she was just using process of elimination to pick the least weak among the remaining choices.

As Rask took his place in front of the class to pick teams, Aaron Miller gave his favorite facial expression, something between a smirk and a sneer. People had often compared Aaron and Rask, because they looked very similar, and were both strong and fast. Aaron was a little taller, and thinner; Rask, a little shorter with wider shoulders and thicker muscle. Mark always said that Aaron was one of those people you meet all the time in real life that are too one dimensional to be taken seriously if you saw them in a movie or TV show. Rask remembered him pushing up his glasses and saying: “He’s just so bitter and malefic that you can’t help but think there’s nothing there below the surface.” There’s something there all right, I just can’t guarantee that it’s not even worse.

The pair would often be urged to single combat in a variety of sports, most commonly basketball. But unlike the long grueling contests against Mallory, Rask could usually dismantle Aaron’s efforts without the game ending in exhaustion. This angered the taller boy to no end, and Aaron would often resort to trips, or elbow checks, anything to try and distract Rask and gain an advantage. On one occasion Aaron tripped Rask while the shorter boy was covering as a wide receiver in football. The penalty had been obvious and malicious. Rask ended up on his back, hurt but uninjured. The whole class had crowded around them, expecting Rask to retaliate, but he kept his calm.  A fight with Aaron could prove that I’m stronger, but the empty sentiment wouldn’t be worth the trouble. 

Aaron managed to pick the stronger team. Members of his posse were off limits, since they’d sabotage any team they were on that was up against him. This severely limited Mallory’s options. Darnel Rivers, Trent Robinson, and Cody Graham. They were fast, strong and competitive. They’d make the backbone of a great sports team, if they had any level of dedication at all. Not that I’m one to talk.

Students assembled on their respective sides of the line. Mallory barked orders to ensure her team was properly assembled, faster players towards the front, and no one so zealous that they’d get knocked out prematurely. Everyone has their place, and mine is here, staring him down. Aaron scowled, a piercing look that would make any unseasoned competitor flinch. I’m never sure if he wants to win the game, or put a knife in my throat. Mr. Sullivan’s whistle pulled Rask out of his thoughts as it sliced through the air.

A cacophony filled the gym, yells, and the squeaks of sneakers on waxed floor. Rask snatched a ball off the line and hurled it at Aaron and his friends before retreating. The opening moments of a game were the most dangerous. Rubber coated foam flew through the air from every direction, and for a brief moment Rask couldn’t help but think of the fire raining from the sky in his dream. Quickly glancing back, Rask could see that his shot had hit Trent in the shoulder, and the boy was visibly upset at his early removal. That helps our chances, at least.

When the smoke cleared, more than a quarter of the total class had been eliminated, with losses favoring neither side. The fallen crossed the court like sullen ghosts. Rask sprawled to avoid a blur of red, and looked up to see Aaron grinning and stepping backwards. The shorter boy grabbed and flung a nearby ball in retaliation, but Aaron was too far downrange and easily sidestepped the attack. Out of the corner of his eye Rask could see Mallory charge forward, and put a red ball directly between the shoulders of a tall boy who had lingered just a little too long. Stunned, the boy hadn’t even seen the attack coming before it struck, and as soon as the ball left her had she had retreated. He looked around quickly and then sulked off court. The perfect ambush.  Rask must have spent a bit too long admiring his friends handiwork, as he had to scramble to avoid a red barrage. A counter strike hit a boy mid range. Not who I was aiming at, but oh well. Another barrage inevitable, Rask fled to the rear of the court. Due to their large surface area and low weight, the red spheres lost momentum too quickly to reach the rear of the court, and this allowed enough of a respite for Rask to take a tactical inventory. Rask glanced and realized Mallory was beside him. Surveying the court intently.  “What do you think?” 

“We’re down by more, but they’ve lost most of their key players.” She didn’t look up to reply. She gets even more absorbed than I do.

“We could keep to mid court to wear down the weaker players. Win by attrition” Rask suggested, moving to the side of a stray ball.

“All the aggression is coming from Aaron and Cody.” Mallory motioned with her head in the direction of the two boys “If we can take them out, the rest of the team will break.” Rask nodded in agreement, the tiniest smile seemed creep across his face for a moment before it was gone. One in thought, each of the pair crept to opposite sides of the court, Rask on the right, and Mallory on the left. They remained there for around a minute, taking some shots, and dodging some as well. Mallory glanced over to make sure Rask had a dodge ball in each hand, before giving a small nod. Let’s give Mr. Sullivan his Crucible. From opposite directions each of the pair dashed diagonally through their teammates towards Aaron and Cody, who were standing front and center on their side of the court. Cody swatted Aaron’s chest to point out the approach of Mallory. They both loosed an attack, but she dodged one and knocked the other out of the air with her own weapons. She stopped just short of the line before launching her first salvo. Caught without weapons her opponents looked panicked. Her attack struck Aaron in his stomach. Center of mass. Completely oblivious to Rask’s approach, Cody never saw the attack until it struck him, hard in the shoulder. They left the court without incident, never making eye contact, leaving the rest of their team to their fates. Emboldened by their teammate’s charge, Rask and Mallory were joined at the front by others, hurling attacks at the demoralized remnants across the line. They broke and scattered. When Mallory picked off the last enemy as he desperately fled for the rear of the court, the echo of the rubber hitting his back sounded through the gym.

 Celebratory cries sounded all around them but Mallory just cracked her neck, and Rask his wrists, as if there was a second round of dodge ball still to come. Mr. Sullivan sternly nodded his approval and spoke “Alright. Good work out there, free gym for the rest of the period.” Mallory and Rask struck up a basketball game with some of the other students on one half of the court, while Aaron and his lot took up the other half.

As the end of the period crept closer, most students grabbed their bags and stared at the clock, surrounding it. It was almost a perverse sort of worship, young acolytes staring up at their two handed god. When the bell finally released them, Rask tried for one last basket before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door. Turning the corner and walking down the hall, Rask and Mallory passed the art room. “It’s supposed to rain today, are you up for a bike ride?” Mallory asked, but when she looked over at Rask, he had his mouth open, and dropped his book bag. Mallory turned her head to what he was looking at. Every week the art teacher Ms. Lawrence puts one of her class assignments on display in a big windowed case. Replacing last weeks self-portraits were a number of landscapes. The one at which Rask was staring so intently stood out from the others, both in style and in content. The artwork was impeccable, a city of painted sandstone, with strange architecture. Burned, destroyed, and brought low. “It’s pretty Rask, but so are some of the others.” Mallory said with more than a bit of confusion, tugging on his shirt. He shook his head.

“Remember the dream I told you about?” He said, never breaking his gaze.

“The one you’ve been having since you were little? Yeah.” She responded, unsure. Rask pointed to the painting, and turned to look her in the eyes. His eyes spoke of fear, but also of prophecy.

“That’s it.”