Going back to the beginning was always said to help solve problems, instead I just wasted time by remembering a night that's not even completely pulled together inside my jumbled mind. Torn between boredom and hating to admit I never truly solve any of my problems, I felt this tug on my physical hand.

This was extremely odd considering I was supposed to be sleeping, but this warm pull on my hand was extremely hard to ignore. Little wet droplets soon followed and I couldn't help, but realize I was slowly gaining consciousness. Tears? Snot? Rain? I had no clue what this foreign substance was, but I was damned if I'd be stuck in this mental pit of hell.

Focusing as hard as possible, I tried wiggling my fingers like that chick in Kill Bill, but to my disappointment I'm apparently not that cool and chanting 'Wiggle your left middle finger' won't get anyone, anywhere. Maybe if I'm loud enough I could cause a grumbled to escape my throat or a huff of some kind. There has to be someone there and what the hell is this liquid on my hand? You can't just avoid someone laying in the effin sidewalk. If I was even on the sidewalk anymore.

Then I heard it again, that voice, speaking to me with a rougher edge as if they had a cold or cough. Whoever this was, was apparently quite sick. "Charlie? ...Charlie," they began, "You won't regain full consciousness just yet, but . . . Before I take you home and before I must depart with you, there is something I must tell you."

A light bulb flashed above my head and I knew who this was, but at the same time was completely clueless. This was the same person who spoke to me before I passed out and the same exact person from the night I was 'awakened'. It had to be, something faint was being grasped at the back of my mind and I was so sure of the connection.

Again, I felt more droplets on my hand cooling my skin and drying it out in some places. Just above a whisper came this unknown entities voice, low in my ear and something about it struck a chord "Stay away from the Gray. You've seen too much already and we can't allow you to be a risk or else next time you will never wake up . . . It's what's best for you."

Out of the clear blue the most bewildering thing happened that I'm pretty sure isn't supposed to happen, I projected my thoughts through the darkness and out of my mouth. In a dry, hoarse whisper I replied "You'll never know what's best for me." For once I knew I wasn't delusional because I heard breath being tightly sucked in through his teeth.

Lightly, I felt a smooth finger run across my left cheekbone "There exist worse things in this world that would swallow your pretty soul in heartbeat . . . ," his voice hesitated for a second, "And some that would play with you first."

I knew exactly what he meant by it was all I could think as those horrendous acts began to try an resurface through the darkness surrounding my mind.

Again my voice crept out of my crackled throat, "Who would want to do that to little ol' me?"

A deep sigh came from his chest added by a slight cough, "Sleep" was all he said, then I was cut off again. No outside sounds or feelings, just the insanity of being a prisoner of your own body. Much like botulism poisoning only I haven't had anything to eat and this situation can hardly let me point the finger at something more average. Well, as average as it will become for me.

I don't know how it happened, but one minute I was basking in madness, the next I was laying on my bed with wide eyes staring at my off-white ceiling giving thought to the possibility of dreaming. It left me bewildered and praying for the Twilight Zone. Everything in my body felt old and ancient as if it hadn't been used in years. So sliding off my bed, I stretched my legs a bit on the ground, stood, and headed down stairs to face my family.

This was going to be tough getting an excuse going for them, let alone my friends later. How long had I been gone? A day? A week? I know they can handle a day or two of non-me action, but what if I had been gone longer than I hoped?

Taking the last step down the staircase I looked around, it was night time, but my house was dead silent . . . or at least I thought it was. As I rounded the corner to my kitchen, I heard small choking sobs as if someone was suppressing a really ugly cry, but what I saw puzzled me beyond anything.

My mother was crammed into the neck of my father, who had a supporting arm draped around her tightly, and was crying her eyes out. For what seemed like forever, I just sat there watching them suffer almost silently in the small kitchen for reasons then unknown to me. Taking another step forward out of the gloom, my father raised his head from its downward position, looked at me, and went completely rigid.

"Charlie . . . ," he began his voice holding a tone of disbelief, "Charlie? Is that you?" Slowly my mother raised her head like a hurt dog and gazed at me with complete shock, but within seconds was detached herself from my equally shocked father and flung herself onto me, almost knocking me backward.

This time she sobbed even harder and went into full on ugly-cry mode, trying to string together words while my completely still father sat there staring. Her flailing arms whacked me in the head as she pounced and hung on me like a viper. It was extremely awkward and I was trying to understand what was happening when something out of her mouth made sense. Well it was a little hard to not understand since she sort of shrieked it into my ear, which startled me and my father.

"FOUR WEEKS!"

Two words? That's helpful.