This dream was better than waking. In it, his father took him fishing at Lake Oconee. They spent hours in their boat, rods in hand as they stirred the water in search of large-mouth bass. In the dream, his mother waited on shore, watching them with a fond smile as she prepared to cook dinner.

This dream was better than waking. For, in waking he realized that his father was still dead. He had been dead for six month, ever since an IED took his arm, half a lung, and his life. Now, the young man drifted through the days and weeks since that terrible event. He drifted, his mind a fog as he anticipated the night when he could sleep again. When he could dream again.

This dream was better than waking.