Dream World
        
       Sometimes I see myself as a child; dreams so high with mountains so tall. Some might want to be lawyers, congressmen, or even teachers. I just wish I could think like they do, so innocent and friendly and un-biased. Their persistence is how the world keeps on trudging through even the worst of times. Oh, if only I could relive the glory days.
      It all started a year ago, after my parents pleaded guilty of murdering an 8-year-old boy on a failed gang hit-and-run. Don’t worry, they aren't part of a gang or anything like that, but a stray bullet from one of their guns landed in the boy’s heart and after a quick drive to the hospital and a long wait in surgery, the police came in and arrested my parents and threw them in psych ward, where they stay to this day. And as I stared into my parent’s weeping eyes as they were taken away from me, the doctor came out and told me, in the darkest tone I have ever heard,
      “He’s gone.”
      The kids at school tortured me like a drunken busted-up guitar after a concert. I would walk to school and out of nowhere they would ambush me and steal my clothes and backpack, leaving me alone in my boxers. A nice bystander would give me their coat every once and a while, but I would still shake my head and walk shamelessly in the opposite direction. I slowly lost faith in myself and my dreams ability to keep me hoping. I was only happy for the foster care I wasn't getting.
      “Hey, Mark. Glad you could make it. I can’t trust anyone these days.” Mark was an accountant at the local business and was a good friend of my mom and dad’s. They all grew up together here and my mom even dated Mark for a time in high school. He never married or had any kids, and ever since my parents were locked away he’s been taking care of me, on my terms of course. He helps pay for the house bills, while I live in the house alone and do him favors every once-in-a-while.
“No problem, Martin. I’m off of work today and my sister’s run herself out of town, so I don’t have any stacks of papers or a ‘crying about an ex’ call I need to sort through.” His sister’s been cat fished before and it really embarrassed her in front of everyone she knew and more, so she’s being “careful” in her relationships; It’s more like paranoid. But what am I to say, I’m not perfect either.
“Well, I’m glad. I wanted to talk to you about this new medical trial. Have you heard of it?”
“What, the one with the dreams? That confuses me, and anyways it seems like total B.S. I think it’s a waste of money.” The trial would supposedly allow me to dream about my life and my potential in society. It was said that some scientist guy found it happen in a dream then happen in real life, and he even says he has “science” to back it up.
“Hey, I completely agree with you. But I just need to feel some stable ground after what happened. I know you've got your hands full with work and family and rent and all, but i just need like $35 to get into the trial. It’s not much…”
“Are you kidding me Martin! I’m barely getting by as it is, and you ask me for money? You've got to be kidding me!”
“I know it’s a lot to ask from you, but please, Mark. It’s the last thing I could ever ask of you. I’ll be forever in your debt, Mark. Just please, let me do this.” The look on his face reminded me when I couldn't believe my parents were gone. 
“You know what, here’s your money. The last of your money. I ain't ever gonna pay for you, help you, or work for you ever again. You hear me?? I don’t ever want to see your face again…” and he strutted off as if a mob boss just arrived.
I looked at the money he scattered on the ground, and shakingly swooped up each individual dollar into my arms and slowly wobbled away. When I got home I struggingly turned the rusted knob and walked into my last home for the first time. The home phone was still active, thankfully, and I called up the trial company. 
      "Hey lady, I don't know who the hell you are or what you want to do with your life, and honestly I can't give less d---- right now. All I care about right now is getting someone on the phone to talk to me about whatever the hell the trial's about." I waited until she responded, but all I heard was silence...
     "OK... Um... How did... You know what never mind. I'll connect you to the HR department. Hold please..." She dragged the words out as if her thoughts and brain didn't connect.
     Of course the usual hold sounds came up, which was just the most basic tune on repeat. After about 10 minutes I finally heard another voice, concreting my insanity.
      "I apologize for the long wait. What was it I could help you with sir?"
      "I was looking to participate in the trial your company was holding for a theoretical 'perfect dream state'?" I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was something about getting someone else on the phone. Typical.
      "Hello sir, I have just been told that you want to participate in our trial. I will have to ask you a few questions first though, okay?"
      "Sure, whatever. Just make it quick."
      "Okay, let's start with the basics. What's your name and age?"
“Martin King. I’m 16.” It wasn't until now that the realization of my age became too real. He continued to ask me these basic questions, and after about 20 minutes, he said goodbye, that he'll get back with me soon, and hung up the phone. It would have been shorter, but I snapped at him when he asked about my parents, and he tried to apologize, but I don't think he ever understood why I snapped at him. 
It took them about two weeks, but I finally got a letter in the mail about my accepting into the program.  I opened the over-sized package and found lots of different pages of meaningless information, but when I found the letter with whether I was accepted or not, I saw it almost meaningless, and threw it on the ground along with all of the meaningless trash people found in mailboxes.