“You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.”

A sullen-looking youth, no more than fifteen years of age, stared at his reflection in a grimy mirror. He was vaguely aware that it was the same mirror he looked into every morning, but most of his mind was preoccupied with the haunting figure that stared daggers into his soul. Cold, dark eyes glared at him through a mop of disheveled black hair. With shaky hands he turned his gaze away from the unsettling apparition and opened the sink faucet. He cupped his hands to catch the icy water, and thrust his face into it. The bite of the cold temporarily jarred his senses and sharpened his mind. Turning off the faucet and purposefully avoiding his reflection, he staggered out of the room. He was painfully aware that each step he took robbed him of even more precious energy, and soon came to a halt in the middle of a simply furnished bedroom.

He took pause to gather his thoughts and take in his surroundings. He was unable to recall the prior events of the day, which seemed to blend together in his mind until they were thoroughly unrecognizable. Thoughts of urgency and apprehension pervaded his brain, and he struggled to remember their origins. Unanswered questions floated in and out of his mind. His obliviousness almost made him angry, but he found that he was unable to produce any sort of emotion without exerting an absurd amount of effort. He duly noted the throbbing in his legs and the aching of his spine, and resolved to do something about it. Summoning the final reserves of his strength, he moved clumsily forward and collapsed into a bed.

It was in the gentle embrace of the mattress and blankets that he began to remember, first in meager inklings that transformed into a torrential flood of memories and thoughts. He was a student, a resident of the United States, and he had put himself through hell. The past three days had brought ruin to his mental and physical well-being, for he had forsaken his health to bolster his chances of success in academics. He thought that he could trump the system through sheer force of will, but the battle had left him battered and broken. Not a second of sleep or a second of rest had he given himself in 72 hours, and his trials were nowhere near over. Two more days of cruel and unusual punishment patiently waited for their turn to wreck havoc on his being.
“I had almost forgotten what happiness feels like” he murmured softly to himself, affectionately patting the bed that caressed his tired frame. “No matter where life takes me, you’ll be there.”

Smiling at the realization that he was talking to his bed, he closed his eyes and waited silently for the forgotten tranquility of sleep. The sun had since set, leaving an oppressive darkness that enveloped the room. Time passed, with only the rhythmic pulse of life and the dull throbbing of his sore appendages keeping him company. He waited anxiously, but the oblivion of sleep never came. He knew that every fiber of his being was begging for rest. He closed his eyes again, but only the blackness of his eyelids greeted him. Flashes of annoyance passed through his mind as he attempted to comprehend his untimely insomnia. With every passing second that he went without the blessing of sleep, the more he felt his humanity seeping out of his body. He could not proffer emotion, nor tell right from wrong, and his apathy towards the world was growing at an alarming rate. He buried his head into the closest pillow and began to moan.
“Surely there is no punishment worse than this!” he thought.

In the midst of a round of counting sheep, a chill swept through to room, and in that instant he knew something was awry. The unexplainable sixth sense that all humans possess warned him of something sinister looming ahead. He hauled himself into a sitting position, and forced his eyes open. Through his blurry field of vision he saw the silhouette of a boy with dark and piercing eyes staring directly at him in the doorway. He instinctively drew his limbs to his chest, unable to speak. He began to blink furiously, hoping that with one closure of his eyes the specter would disappear from the world. The wraithlike figure appeared closer and closer with each blink, slowly extending a gnarled hand towards his heart. Fear paralyzed his body, leaving free reign only to his darting eyes. For the first time in his life he was truly worried. The deathly reflection of himself, with sunken eyes and a cruel and twisted smile, began mouthing words that he could not make out. The specter’s eyes burned freezing holes into his soul, its hand inches away from touching him. In the face of imminent death, his mind raced with emotions that overflowed his being. He had scarcely lived life yet, and was wholly unprepared for this premature departure from life. He could only watch helplessly as the malevolent hand pressed against his chest, and could do nothing as the blackness overtook him.

The palpable darkness had fully consumed him. His corporeal body had vanished, leaving a detached consciousness floating through oblivion.
“Is this the end? The aftermath of existence? Cursed to drift aimlessly until we forget who we once were, and become part of the universal consciousness once more?” He was astounded by his sudden philosophic proclamation. He had been nowhere near as insightful when he resided on Earth.

As he marveled at his newfound enlightenment, colors began swirling in the void. They began forming familiar shapes and figures until the blackness had ceased and memories of the past had taken their place. He saw his parents, blissful in watching their newborn son walk for the first time. He saw himself surrounded by his classmates on his fifth birthday. Joyous moments in his life danced in his mind, bringing about warm feelings and a genuine happiness that he had not felt in some time. The memories then melded together into a shining portrait of himself twenty years in the future; a proud and successful young man travelling the world.

The colors drifted away, and reformed. A new memory appeared of him scraping the entirety of his left shin against the asphalt in the fourth grade. It was followed by an ataxia of appalling moments in his life that flooded his vision and rendered him weak with anguish. He picked out his first bad grade and shuddered with shame. He fought back tears as the memory of being rejected not two months earlier surfaced in the medley. The overwhelming sorrow was eating away at his ethereal consciousness, and he was powerless to stop it.

Without warning, the colors once again drifted away. With his mind still shaken from the forced re-experience of his past, he had hardly noticed that he could once again smile and move his limbs. In the midst of it all, his body had miraculously reformed. While silently celebrating his resurrection, he felt a chilling hand rest upon his shoulder, and his newly rejuvenated blood ran cold. In an instant he was flung at light speed through the darkness, rapidly approaching a blinding portal of radiant light. He turned to the owner of the hand, and saw his pallid reflection staring back with those piercing eyes. Yet there was no malice in its grim countenance.

He was thrust through the portal and was immediately blinded by the heavenly brilliance. The light had overflowed his senses, and he felt his mind strain itself to maintain control. He regained consciousness to the familiar sensation of waking up in his room, and when he looked down, found himself lying on his bed. He was elated, fully energized, but completely mystified. It was as if the nightmare with his deathly counterpart had never happened. Stretching his arms above his head, he performed the habitual act of looking at the clock on the adjacent nightstand. Nine hours had passed since his descent into oblivion, and it was minutes before the start of a new day in his life. He jumped out of bed and sauntered into the bathroom, where he greeted his harrowed reflection as an old friend. Eyes locked, with burning passion against icy resolve, they steeled themselves for the impending trials to come.