When we sleep, we dream. I fly into the sky and go through the clouds; the stars are out and brighter than any diamond I've seen. It is peaceful, just the wind singing in my ears as I zip through the night. As I soar higher and higher into the dark atmosphere, the cold air rushes at my body, feeling everything from my head to my feet. RING, RING, RING, RING! My body stops in mid-air and falls, returning to Earth. RING, RING, RING, RING, the sound gets louder as I get closer to the ground.

Waking up, I slam the alarm clock to shut it up.

Another day, another dollar, god damn it.

Rising from my bed, I look out the window; the sun is out, people are outside, walking, cars are driving on the road, and the birds are flying together. Looking away, I head out of my bedroom and go straight to the bathroom. After I clean up my act, I head back to my room, to my closet, and open it. My work clothes: gray suits, white dress shirts, black ties, and black shoes are all in there.

I look at them as I snatch them from the closet. Placing the clothes on my bed, I look outside again; the birds are in a "v" shape as they fly south. After putting my clothes on, I leave my room and go downstairs, planning to make breakfast.

Cereal should be good for now. I don't feel like making waffles with eggs and sausages. Once outside, I see a half-naked tree with a small bird sitting on it. It looks at me before flying into the sky, probably to join the herd.

There's always never the time.

I walk down the stairs and head to my car. I unlock it and go inside. Starting up my car, I exit my parking space and go onto the road. I am on the road — cars go up and down, probably heading home or to work. I make it to The Oregonian, park my car in the packed lot, and shut it off. I'm out, walking to the building, and a small gray and black bird moves along the sidewalk.

It moves its head like it's picking at something in the air. It locks eyes with me when it realizes I'm watching it. I try to shoo it away, but it remains frozen like a statue, just staring. Why should I bother? It's an animal. Deciding to give up, my boss will be upset if he sees me fooling around. Before going inside, I could've sworn it shook its head.

Inside The Oregonian, my boss is on the phone, chatting. Seeing me at the entrance, he hangs up the phone and waves.

"Morgan," he greets. "Just the man I'm looking for."

"Hello, Mr. Asa. What do you want?"

"I want you on a story about a major event in South Africa, pronto."

"South Africa? I thought Jerry is—"

"Jerry is focusing on his wife right now. All the others are working on other things, leaving you free."

"But I was planning on writing on the USSR—"

"Listen, you are working on South Africa. Take it or leave it."

Not wanting to argue with my boss and lose my job, I choose a lesser evil by accepting the task.

"Good, one of our people who went to South Africa has everything you need at your station."

"Thanks..."

"I expect you to finish in 3 to 4 hours once I return."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a meeting with one of NBC's people. If all goes well, our news brand will flourish around the country. Now get to it."

Walking by him, I make it to the elevator. I press the button, the elevator opens, and I get in and stand there as it starts to close. Punching the sixth button, the small screen above the panel counts up to six. The door of the elevator opens and reveals a spacious room. The room has people wandering around, going from station to station, and screams roar over errors in article drafts.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Getting out of the elevator, I drag my feet across the floor and see my desk (which is near the small square-ish window of this office.) Once I make it to my desk, three yellow folders look like they have been sitting there for a while. A collection of black smudged fingerprints is visible on the first folder—on the left. Picking the left folder up and opening it, a piece of paper falls onto my lap.

Why am I stuck doing this? Jerry should've taken care of this a while ago.

I bring the paper close to my face, and the sea of words entrenches my mind with boredom until one hits me.

Apartheid...?

Now fully aware, I scanned the top part of the letter and reread it.

"I don't know where to begin," I mutter. "Never have I ever thought that the horror would end. I always thought people like me would never see the day. At first, I thought the apartheid ending was nothing more than a dream. A dream that could jail us or kill us."

What does this person mean?

"One day, when I saw Mandela out of the cage, I couldn't describe how I felt. It was like seeing a caged bird flying free; it was beautiful."

Interesting read.

I place the paper back on my desk and grab two other folders. I open each one from the documents and photos of a man, Nelson Mandela, standing and smiling. I put these things down; I turn on my bulky computer.

My boss should've contacted me earlier about Jerry's situation. Why did he wait until the last minute?

As the computer boots up, I hear a loud bang on the window. Turning to the window, a gray pigeon, the same one I'd seen outside before diving into work, tapping on the window with its beak. I gaze at it as it stares back at me.

"Get out of here," I say. "You're distracting me — get out of here."

You're lucky to be out there.

The bird stops tapping the window and shakes its head.

So I wasn't crazy after all.

"Get out of here, now. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

If only I'm not stuck here.

Shaking my head, I return to my computer, clicking on the Microsoft Word icon, and the white online document appears. I blink a couple of times before my eyes become heavier and heavier with each second. No sound of keyboard mashing, journalists chatting — it's peaceful. I feel the wind blowing on the side of my face. I wake up and see the clouds, the rooftops of the buildings, the streetlights, and the cars moving up the road and down the other.

"What the hell?! How am I outside my work and flying?!" Finally. "I need to get back to work before my boss will—"

Hoot, hoot. My ears perk from the sound; a pigeon flies down and lands on the top of the streetlight. It moves to the right and sits there.

"You," I point at the bird. "You did this, didn't you?" I would give you a cracker for helping me. "Don't you have any idea what will happen to me? I'll lose my job and be locked up somewhere!"

The bird tilts its head before it bows at me.

Shit. Now, I feel bad.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you. This, this is just all new for me."

The bird lifts its head.

"Did you do it because... you saw me go into my job?"

The pigeon hoots.

"Well then... what now?"

The pigeon flies off the streetlight and goes into the sky. I fly after it while the air whistles in my ears. The sun blinds me, and I nearly fall out of the sky. I fly back into the sky and join the pigeon. Seeing patches of clouds further down the atmosphere, I fly towards the puffy clouds, go through them, and see the vapor coming off my arms.

Looking back, the pigeon starts to catch up to me. I smile at it.

Thank you, Thank you so much for everything—

"Morgan!"

My eyes widen at that voice, and my body starts to fall from the sky.

"Morgan, wake up!"

Waking up in the office, sitting on my chair, I turn around and see Mr. Asa next to me with his arms across his chest.

"O—Oh, Mr. Asa. What happened?"

"You tell me, Morgan?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was reading and—"

"Just reading. Jesus! I told you to take care of it in three to four hours."

You little shit, you think you can talk to me like that?

"Mr. Asa, you didn't notify me earlier about Jerry. All these papers are too much for me to handle."

"There's no excuse," he says. "I told you that the documents can help you make an article. You've got to be responsible for it."

"Mr. Asa... no." What am I doing?

"What did you say to me?"

"I said no. I'm not doing last-minute work. It's too much for me."

"Then, I think you need to start thinking about other opportunities out there."

"You're right..." I stand up from my seat and put my hand out to my boss. "It was nice working for you, Mr. Asa. All these years with you have been good."

I can't believe I did that.

I leave the building, taking in a big whiff of fresh air. The same pigeon sits on the sidewalk and looks at me. I don't know if birds can smile, but I could have sworn it's happy. I watch it fly away. I look up — my body feels light. I glance down; my feet aren't touching the ground.