AN: No interest in continuing this one either, though it was one of the best earliest examples of my writing style.

Based on the Satoshi Kon movie, "Paprika".

Dreams are illusions. When you go to sleep at night you're sent to another world. A world where time simply doesn't exist, nothing and everything makes sense, and it rebuilds and deconstructs upon itself. Dreams were a big mystery since the dawn of man. They were like a virtual art piece, created by an artist such as Picasso or Salvador Dali. You experienced everything in the art piece, and in the end, you wake up and wonder where all the time went, and ultimately, what it all meant. Dreams in of themselves were big puzzles, and many psychiatrists today believe that they are puzzles that show the dreamer's fear, love, desires, maybe even predict something in the future. They were always large scale phenomena in the brain, to be in a completely different place in your head whenever you shut your eyes in your bedroom.

But to be in another person's dreams…dream analysts as early as Carl Jung may have written that there were some cases where someone suddenly implanted themselves inside another person's dream, and it's like a window into another person's mind. However, these cases have always been classified as rare, and doctors have always wondered when they could create a device that would allow them to see inside a patient's dreams. Psychologists have always wanted to get literally inside their patients' heads and put together that puzzle, to understand them fully. For many years, they've talked about developments for this kind of device, but for as long as people knew, such a device was as much as a dream when you fell asleep at night.

There's a lone building in the southwest side of Station Square. Tall, glossy with its metallic exterior, wide windows you could see through, although some were covered with blinds, to keep what was going on inside the room a secret. It had a nice tended garden in the front of it to keep the people who were about to enter the building calm, with its many poppies lining the garden with their crimson petals and ink black faces that always seemed to curiously peer at the visitors.

It was called the Station Square Psychiatric Institute, the one building in the city that made most of the leading psychiatric discoveries. When you entered the building, you are met with the usual type of landmarks in counseling and psychiatric buildings. The carpet with the small red and green dots, coupled with the smell of medicine and the anxiousness of meeting your doctor, while you waited in your seat as the young children loudly banged the building's toys and not talk in their normal voice when addressing their mothers, and you thought they were yet more children who were being prescribed Ritalin. However, this building was more careful in their decisions. They rarely if ever gave these rambunctious children amphetamines. "Children will be children. And you need to enjoy it, cause soon they aren't going to be like this anymore and you'll wish for those times again."

The building was also a research center, with its many doctors studying and recording certain cases that took place in their rooms, writing down or sending their findings to psychology journals. The Station Square Psychiatric Institute is one of the leading finders of new techniques and studies, as the institute was led by a very famous and prolific doctor that some said would one day find the cure to mental illnesses such as autism and schizophrenia. His name was Dr. Gerald Kintobor.

Journals have written that he was as influential as Sigmund Freud. He was even listed in a magazine's Top 100 Influential People, making his spot on #3. He led studies that have helped other doctors understand some psychiatric illnesses better than before, such as Dissociative Identity Disorder and even have once helped improve the lives of somewhat sociopathic patients who entered his building. He knew as soon as he graduated high school on honor roll that he wanted to be a psychiatrist, and he studied laboriously in college. He also made the Dean's List and graduated with a master's degree and a Ph. D. It was then that he worked in the institute, for over 20 years. He was old now, balding and his mustache an ashy gray as gray as his eyes that were hidden well underneath his glasses. He loved his job, and knew that he did it well. But he thought this device that he worked on, day and night, for over five years, was probably the best thing he had ever accomplished in his life as a doctor. But he knew the device he created still needed a few tweaks and advancements before he could make it known to the public. The only people who knew about this device, however, were only his most trusted colleagues and patients he knew would keep a secret about it. There were many people who worked in the building who didn't even know of the device's existence, and until he could make those tweaks, he wanted it to remain that way.

It was a small, square, gray system with a red gem in the middle, always gleaming in the light brightly as he turned on his single desk lamp. It would attach itself to the head of his patients, picking up brainwave signals and breathing, but also there would be a projector screen, showing what was happening in the patient's mind like a movie. Sometimes they seemed to be those old 50's cheesy sci-fi flicks Gerald watched religiously when he was a child, sometimes they were extremely colorful and vivid, almost like an animated feature film. Attached to it was a head device, much like headphones, that would allow the user to go inside the patient's head when he was dreaming. Their brainwaves would suddenly become entwined, and that person would be transported to their dreams. Then the user could try to understand more on what the patient was feeling in their dream, even help them conquer their phobias and anxieties. And the user could also experience everything in this surreal world, even feel pain and feel anything they touched. There were even some dreams where the user could smell something in it, sometimes a good smell, such as his favorite food, or the smell of blood stinging his nostrils.

Yet another patient came in through the door that was labeled TOP SECRET RESEARCH, a door that could only be opened with a keycard. This particular patient of his talked about a recurring dream that he began to get in most of the nights he actually managed to sleep, and he always reacted the same: waking up in the middle of the night, screaming bloody murder and waking his wife and child. He was haunted by it constantly and feared going back to sleep. He actually didn't sleep for five days, and he was still sweaty and jittery as he lied on the cot, with many of the wires protruding from his head.

"You need to relax and breathe slowly," Dr. Gerald assured him. "If you keep fretting about going to sleep, we'll never be able to do this research. Breathe slowly, count to 10, and try to relax."

"I'm sorry, Gerald. Ever since this dream began to haunt me, it's been difficult for me to relax enough to go to sleep. As I said before, I've been up for five days. I'm too scared and worried to go back to sleep."

Gerald knew that his patient was too wired. The device picked up rapid heartbeats and erratic brainwaves that caused his mind to move like a freight, going from one thought to the next as the man continued to sweat and shake. He knew he needed something to calm him down. His advice was useless to him right now.

He called on his assistant to give him a sedative to help him relax. "Give him a dissolvable tablet of Ativan. He is literally sweating himself to death, and I don't think my advice is doing him any good."

His assistant nodded, as he quickly ran to the pill table to get out the rosy pink discs. Ativan, 25 mg. It should do the trick.

The man continued to worry, his breathing and heart rate still bouncing rapidly through one of the screens. As his eyes glanced the room, he saw a gloved hand in the corner of his vision, jade eyes peeking at him as he held a small paper cup containing the pill. "Take this. Don't worry, we're just giving it to you so you can relax. I assure you it's not laced with anything."

His voice carried a hint of irony, as if he was trying to humor him. But he believed him, as he let the pill melt in his mouth. The effect was immediate. Gerald could see that his heart rate decreased dramatically, his sweating and thoughts slowing down. It was then that this green-eyed assistant was talking to him, but not about dreams and psychological terms. Just ordinary, regular conversation he participated in with regular people.

"So you have a wife, huh? How is she doing?"

"Oh, well besides my insomnia and her being worried about me, she's doing okay. She recently got hired as a secretary. She's been working a lot to support me and my son. Unfortunately, due to my…" He yawned, not even noticing he was tired. "…anxiety, I have to be on unemployment. And I don't like being stuck at the house all day. I feel like I'm…wasting away."

"Yeah, I know how that feels. I really can't stand to be in my home all day either. I feel like I have to get up and do something after like two hours, you know? I get bored too easily staying there."

"Yes, I…really want to go fishing next week, but…" His eyes began to slowly veil themselves, as he felt like he was being drifted away. "…my wife constantly…worries that…I'll…" It was then that his mind was blank, his eyes completely closed and his body becoming relaxed and dormant, except for his chest slowly rising up and down. He was asleep.

The movie was at first black, as if the reels were beginning to unravel, then it began to play. He saw that he was a child, playing in his backyard that he assumed was at his childhood home, a white dainty little home with large screens and a backyard with as green as malachite grass, with many dandelions poking from the ground as he played with his many toy cars. He seemed to be happy, as his mother began to approach him and talk to him, saying that when he was done playing he could help himself to lunch and lemonade. There was one thing wrong in the movie, the doctor began to notice. He saw that the sun was a bright emerald green, and it seemed to be very close to the boy's planet. It looked as if it was preying on him, preparing to devour him whole.

"This is your cue. Put the device on and analyze everything in this world. Don't try to interfere too much, however. Remember, we need to understand fully on why this dream has been keeping him up for days."

His assistant nodded, his green eyes absorbed by the darkness in the room as he went to the dream device and put the headset on.

The boy didn't even seem to notice the green sun that was warily glaring at him. He continued to play with his cars, rolling them through the dirt and the grass. He didn't care if his cars were becoming dirty. He always did this to his toys, and he didn't know how many of them he lost in that sandbox near him. He rolled them up through the hills of dirt and sand, but he began to notice that he was getting hot under the sun. Beads of sweat poured down on his face as he smashed another one of his cars away from him. He wiped his brow as he gazed up at the sun, noticing that it was slowly looming over his backyard. He thought he could even see the dark sunspots that spotted on the surface, and the flames licking the sky as they jumped up and down rapidly, flickering. He began to feel afraid. He noticed that something strange was going on, and it wasn't good. His stomach began to churn as the sun slowly rose over the neighbor's house, looking as if it was going to be consumed by its flames.

The shadows got taller, as his own stretched over his backyard. He thought he was seeing things, noticing that this shadow of his had bright emerald eyes, gazing back at him with caution.

The boy felt immensely afraid. This wasn't the backyard he remembered. This was a hellish place, and he began to wonder why his own shadow was staring back at him.

"Wh-who are you?" he stuttered. "Tell me! Tell me who you are, or I'll…or I'll…" It was then that his heart began to skip a beat and he felt like running like a cat being sprayed with a toy gun full of water. The shadow rose from the ground, having a set of wild spiky hair that looked like a very dark royal blue when he looked at it closely.

"The sun is getting closer. It's going to vaporize you if you stay out here any longer. Go to your house. Now. It's coming."

It was then that he noticed how dangerously close the sun was getting. The tree that stood in their neighbor's yard started to burst into flames. The violet leaves were consumed in emerald flames that almost blinded him when looking directly at it, as if the flames were burning magnesium. The tree curled up, its branches black and twisting, twisting into another world. The tree disappeared as if it was being transported to another dimension, as the flames turned the freshly lawn cut grass into cinders, becoming as black as charcoal.

He ran. The flames were going to reach him. The sun was getting closer, and the neighbor's house was now on fire, Mr. Stephenson screaming and shouting for help. He couldn't look away when he saw his body becoming obsidian black, his eye sockets empty as his eyes melted, his mouth agape as he could see that it was also completely black, with no tongue or teeth in sight. He was completely burned to a crisp, as he sprawled out of his house, ashes evaporating in the air as the flames ate the last of his carcass. Mr. Stephenson was dead, and he died a horrible death he didn't want to experience.

He banged on the glass doors of his house, screaming for his mother to let him in, that the sun was going to burn him into ashes. He was so panicked that he even thought of shattering the door with his fists. He wanted to be with his mother at this very moment, and he hit the doors louder, hoping she'll come back right now.

"Mom! Mom! Please! Please open the door! Please open the door right now!" he nearly screamed, tears streaming down his face. He kept banging till he thought his fists would break, as the door finally slid open to let him in.

"Mom, hurry and let me inside! I…" His words stopped cold in his mouth, as he witnessed the horror of what happened to his mother.

She was just like Mr. Stephenson. Her eye sockets were empty, her body nothing but thin skin and bare bones, her hands wretched and skinny as she began to be burned alive, her body turning completely black. She was a black skeleton, screaming for her son to help her, screaming in bloody murder as the flames ate her alive.

He began to scream in horror along with his mother, as he saw his skin becoming dark and sooty, his eyes being drained. Then he saw nothing. His brain told him that he was dead before he was evaporated from the earth.

He awoke in the research room, screaming. He was upright in the cot, until the green-eyed assistant gently coerced him to lay back in the bed. His face was flushed, with sweat dripping from his face. Gerald saw that his heartbeat was rapid again, until he began to realize his surroundings and notice that he wasn't dead or burning alive. He was starting to calm down when he felt he was back in reality again.

"So, that was your dream, huh?" the assistant spoke again. His eyes quickly noticed him when he turned on the lamp next to the cot. He was a cobalt, bipedal hedgehog, looking at him as if he was concerned.

He wiped his brow again, as his breathing slowed down. "Yes. That…was the dream that I was afraid to have for five days. It kept appearing to me every night, and I don't know why it's torturing me. Every time I see my mother like that…I wake up and scream. I've been waking up my wife and son every time I have that dream, and they wonder what's wrong with me. I…don't want to have that dream anymore, and I simply don't know what to do …" His voice began to sound as if he was being choked, as his eyes welled up. He felt like sobbing.

"I…see," he said, as he got out a clipboard and pencil, making it dance in the air as his fingers played with it, constantly making it go up and down hastily. "What do you feel about your mother? Do you still see her? Is she still alive?"

He sighed dejectedly. "No. My mother died a year ago. I loved her, but I felt like I was constantly at war with her. We argued a lot. She was 70 years old and she was coming down with the flu, and in her last days I never even went to visit her. She died before I could apologize and say goodbye." He felt a tear roll down his cheek. The whole situation always saddened him and brought a great deal of guilt.

"So you are ashamed that in your last days you were angry with your mother?"

"Yes. I wished I could've at least went to her house for a little while, just to comfort her in her last hours. But I was still angry with her over our argument and I didn't believe her when she said she was dying. And when her doctor called me to say she died, I broke down. I felt like the whole situation was my fault. I should've never been angry with her like that. I should've listened to her. But my anger took over and I told her that I never wanted to see her again. And…I regret it, deeply."

"Well," he began, finally stopping the flipping and swirling of his pencil. "I'm not really an expert on all of this psychosocial head stuff, but it really sounds like your dream is telling you that you…regret about what you did to your mother. You feel like your anger, which was probably the sun, killed her and everything in your life. Do you think that's true?"

He was silent, absorbing his analysis. "Yes. Yes, I think ever since I grew angry with my mother, my life went downhill. I feel like I destroyed that relationship between us, and I couldn't even say goodbye."

He nodded slowly, trying his hardest to act like a professional therapist. "I think by going into your dream and knowing what's going on in there, you're going to need some therapy sessions with a professional so you can get through all those feelings about your mother. I'd like to help, but I'm far from professional."

He felt like crying again as the memories of his mother began to flash in his mind. He felt miserable as the love and affection his mother gave him raced, and he didn't return it back to her. He just let her die, home alone. "I think therapy would be a good thing for me too. I really want to go back on my feet again so I can go back to my job and help support my family. But I keep feeling guilty and having no motivation to do anything, and my wife is very concerned. And I don't want to keep living like this."

The hedgehog wrote down the patient's name, along with a doctor he thought he should see in scrawled and sloppy handwriting. "I think you need to see Dr. Roshgo as early as possible. How does tomorrow at 4:45 PM sound?"

He nodded, his eyes scanning the ceiling. "I have nothing to do at that time, so that sounds good."

He wrote down the time, as he tore off the strip of paper and gave it to the man. "And remember, you can't tell anyone about what we did with your dreams and all. It's a secret, but we needed to test it on a few people like yourself so we know if it's working right. And…by the way," he added, as he smiled a little and patted his shoulder. "Listen to your doctor and take it easy. There's no need for you to be worried that much. You have a wife and kid who love you very much, right?"

He felt a downpour of tears rising from his eyes. "Yes…yes, they're worried sick about me. And I love them too."

He slowly rose, stumbling, as the blue hedgehog led the man back to Gerald, who swiped his keycard on the door and allowed him to go back to the main lobby of the building. He felt bad for that man. It seemed like he was burdened with a lot, and the story he told to the hedgehog about his mother was very pitiable.

The hedgehog returned his clipboard to him, reading his study on the patient. His handwriting was difficult to read and he misspelled some words, but he could understand it all the same. He was used to this.

SAMUEL FOSTER

AGE: 29

SEX: M

WHEN I WENT IN HIS DREAM, HE WAS FACED WITH A LOT OF FEAR AND GUILT. I TALKED TO HIM ABOUT HIS MOTHER AND HE SAID SHE DIED A YEAR AGO, AND HE WAS ANGRY WITH HER IN HER LAST DAYS. HE IS FILLED WITH ANCIETY AND IS DEPRESSED. HE NEEDS TO BEGIN WORK WITH DR. ROSHGO AND MAYBE START HIM ON MEDICINE FOR HIS ANCIETY AND MAYBE GIVE HIM A SLEEPING PILL.

STUDY WRITTEN BY SONIC THE HEDGEHOG

"You spelled 'anxiety' wrong twice, Sonic. You need to work on spelling that right," he noted.

"Well, you got what I was trying to say, right? The guy is a nervous wreck! He didn't sleep for five days and I can tell he's all worked up about his mom. You really feel sorry for that guy, though. I…can kinda see what he went through, you know?"

"Yes. You almost faced the same thing in your life, didn't you, Sonic? And that's why you decided to become my assistant, so you can help people who went through the same thing."

He nodded, as he gazed at the dream device, its red gem shining in the light. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly why I decided to work with you. Even if I was paid less at this, I would still do this." He looked back at him, putting his hands behind his head. "Do you think the Dreamcast is going to help a lot of people? Maybe even cure them of what they have?"

His eyes were casted on it, the wires abandoned and the screens blank and empty. "That's what I'm hoping to do, Sonic. Dreams do reveal a lot about someone, and I'm hoping professionals and people like yourself can experience them and understand the patient better. But it's not finished, and I can't tell anyone about it. I know if the Dreamcast was put into the wrong hands, we're going to have many problems. I'm hoping I can get it to where it can only be used by professionals, helping people who really need it."

Sonic noticed that even in the middle of a serious discussion such as this, his stomach was growling. He was starving.

"Well, I'm going to take a lunch break. I'm supposed also take care of some unfinished errands back at my flat, and I'll be back."

"Come back at 3, sharp. We still have a lot of work to do. I'm supposed to meet a patient for a medicine adjustment, and I want you there with me."

"I always come back, don't I? I never bailed on you once or was late before, right? I'll be back as quick before you can say 'onomatopoeia'!"

Sonic knew better than to run in the hallways, however, so he had to walk. And he hated waiting for the elevator, so he took the stairs instead. Every time it was his lunch break he would go into the lobby and see that the secretary had kept his lunch inside the mini-fridge, and he had to wait for the microwave to heat up some of his food (he usually hated it, but he couldn't stand eating cold food most of the time). But he thought today he was going to go out to eat. There was a restaurant not far from the building that made really good chili dogs, and he thought that would be a good lunch to go on with the day.

He pushed through the doors, noticing the red poppies were starting to bloom again. He thought they looked similar to Rorschach tests, as if their faces were ink. And he thought if they weren't red, but green instead, they'd look like the sun he saw in Samuel's dream.