text: 'Reule T. Ruthe', he was called. It was only a few minutes before he entered the room, claiming to be the perfect person for my case. As he led me to his office, he warmly greeted me and was especially interested in getting me to repeat everything I had already written on the paper before this.
  
  "So, she said your wife was killed by the dreamworld?"
  
  I sighed. "Mr. Ruthe. I am an old man, but not a delusional one. I know very, very well what I heard that night. If you truly insist, I have the recording right here."
  
  I played it for him, and despite having heard it many times over the years, the tears still brimmed in my eyes. What would I give to relive that moment again? Seeing my daughter, hearing her voice...
  
  "Sir, may I have your name again?"
  
  "My name? Isn't it written on one of the many forms I had to fill out?"
  
  "Yes, but if you don't mind-"
  
  "Do you take me for a fool? Of course I remember my own name! I'm Arnold, Arnold Cyzila."
  
  "Mr. Cyzila?" His eyes lit up. "Ah, and your daughter is Rosaline Cyzila!"
  
  "Yes. That- that was in the form."
  
  "I... I am truly sorry, Mr. Cyzila. I really am. It must be hard, to lose your daughter and your wife. We couldn't do anything about it, but your daughter managed to say goodbye to your wife, so I can only hope all was well."
  
  "I don't need your sympathy." I had enough people feeling sorry for me and I didn't need more. Then my brain processed what he just said, and I did a double take. "What was that you said again?"
  
  "I'm truly sorry for your-"
  
  "No, not that. The other thing."
  
  "At least your daughter got to say goodbye."
  
  "No! Before that. That... that you couldn't do anything about it."
  
  "Did I say that? You must have been mistaken-"
  
  I stood up, ready to stomp out of there. "Mr. Ruthe, once again, I know exactly what I heard. I have a gun here in my pocket, and if you do not tell me the truth-"
  
  "Hey, just calm down, Mr. Cyzila. I... I wanted to test you. To make sure you were not perceptible to what others say. Did you know your memory constantly rewrites itself, based on your-"
  
  "I passed the test. Done. Now can you do exactly what you were paid to and tell me what the hell is wrong with my daughter?"
  
  "With... with your daughter? Sir, you don't possibly think-"
  
  "Think what, huh? That I'm the problem instead of her?"
  
  "No, you're not the problem. You're not." He took several calming breaths, grabbed a cup of green tea from the table behind him, and offered it to me. "Before I commence the treatment, please tell me one thing. Why did you come here today? Do you want me to remove the hurt from your heart about your daughter, or would you prefer I help you cope with her loss?"
  
  > help you cope with losing her
  "Mr. Cyzila. The first step to healing is acceptance-"
  
  "Don't bother selling me that load of rubbish. You know more than you let on. If you really want to help me recover, you have to help her recover. You're a therapist, so you can do this. Don't you have some fancy PHDs in brain study or something?"
  
  "You told me earlier that none of the scientists and doctors knew what happened. So the best course for us to take, as I have said, is to heal and accept."
  
  "Bull. You said you have something to do with it. Didn't you apologize? And if you do not fear your own death, how about I kill everyone in this hospital? Yeah, how about that? I would do anything - and I mean anything - to get my daughter back. I know when someone is hiding something. You, Mr. Ruthe, fall into this category. So unless you tell me how to get my daughter back-"
  
  "Relax, sir, relax. It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking like this-"
  
  "No. No, no, no. I'm going to kill everyone in this building, starting from the nice receptionist outside, unless you help me right now." The idea was firmly rooted to my mind now, and I was a man of my word. I said it, so I had to prove it. It might be because I was cooped up too long, or perhaps I was just done waiting, yet I would readily kill them all. For my daughter, I would do anything.
  
  "Mr. Cyzila, I suggest you take a break. Go over to the water filter, or have a short walk in our mindfulness garden. Clear your mind. Just... don't go to the toilet. It's clogged up and there's a bad infestation."
  
  It was hopeless to continue arguing so I did what I had to do. Not wanting to give him any satisfaction, I did not take any of his options into account.
  
  > go to the washroom
  The washroom was pristine when I entered. There was no sign of any vermin or bugs. I yelled out my frustrations into the mirror, hit the glass with all the strength I had, and tried to destroy two water pipes. They were not my responsibility, and if asked, I could always blame it on the trauma.
  
  As much as I hated wasting my time with this pigheaded fool of a therapist, I despised the fact his idiotic reverse psychology worked on me. I went to the toilet simply because he told me not to. With this thought in mind, I smashed a window and smudged the wet blood on the clean, white walls. Good luck to whoever was here next.
  
  "Hhh... hhh...." A feeble voice came from one of the stalls.
  
  "Who's there?" I knocked twice before entering. A man with a blackened eye and blood in his mouth lay on the floor, clutching a very familiar file.
  
  "Who are you and why do you have my file?"
  
  "I... I am your therapist. Nikolas Lennie. Was... was attacked. He claimed... claimed to know your case better... once he read the paper. I didn't breathe... breathe into the handkerchief."
  
  "What the heck?"
  
  "Old sir... help. Please..."
  
  I grabbed the man and pulled him to his feet. "I'm calling an ambulance for you, but you need to walk to it. Can you do that? As for me, I have some unfinished business to do."
  
  "Okay." He shakily leant on me before collapsing. Sighing, I led him to the front of the building and got a security guard to assist him before returning to the therapist's office.
  
  "Hey, Mr. Cyzila! You're back. Did the walk..." He trailed off as he noticed my expression. "What in the dreamworld happened?"
  
  "The dreamworld." I caught on to the word before he could unsay it. "My daughter talked about the dreamworld."
  
  "I-" He had no excuse.
  
  "You were hiding something, Mr. Ruthe. There was a man in the washroom that was half dead, and you are not a real therapist. So tell me, before I call the cops, what happened to my daughter?"
  
  "It doesn't matter if you call them. No one's going to believe you, and even if they do, I won't spill a word."
  
  He was so maddeningly hard to break. I was losing all hope when my mind latched onto my Rosa. She was kind, too kind for the world. They only took advantage of her. Yet, the world loved her, and she loved it back. What would she do in this situation?
  
  "Mr. Ruthe. I am just an old man, and as you said, no one would believe a word from my mouth. Does it really matter whether or not I know the truth? I'm marked for death at such an old age, but before that, I want to see my daughter again. I'm sorry if I haven't treated you with the kindness you deserve-" and here, I tried hard not to sound too sarcastic, "- but please forgive me. I love my daughter with every ounce of my being, and I would do anything to get her back."
  
  He was shocked, although he finally gave in. "Mr. Cyzila, if you choose to do this, let me tell you that you are setting yourself up for failure. They don't give in easily. At best, you would see your daughter one last time before one or the both of you plummet to death. At worst, neither of you would be alive to see tomorrow. There is absolutely no way you can make it out of there even if you get in."
  
  "And why's that?"
  
  He settled in his chair, a little too comfortably for a man who was threatening my life. "I have a long story to tell you."
  
  > Destined to die
  "When Earth was formed, five lands were formed within it. The way in which space ripples and folds created the opportunity for them all to co-exist in the same space without knowing of one another's existence. The first was the 'real world' where humans, animals, plants, and so many others live. It was the first world which was created and the only one which aliens believed were real."
  
  "Hold up. Aliens?"
  
  "And just because aliens believed the 'real' world was real did not mean they were motivated enough to explore this insignificant part of the universe."
  
  I downed a cup of coffee that sat nearby. "Oh, of course."
  
  He continued speaking. "The dreamworld was the next, and the second most difficult to enter. The folds of space meant the Earth seemed smaller than it actually was, and a certain number of consciousness points separated the dreamworld from the 'real' world. Then came the seaworld and the skyworld. Both are pretty obvious although the folds of space prevents accidental travels from one world to the next."
  
  "Sounds like science fiction nonsense to me," I could not help saying. He ignored my comment.
  
  "Last of all was the fairytale world. It is only listed in the most ancient of documents, and sounds like a legend. Aside from stories of it, this world has never been seen by any inhabitants of any other world."
  
  "And that helps me how?"
  
  "Be patient. You said your daughter was in the dreamworld, and from what I gather, in a bad part of that world. Ah, here. Let's say this piece of paper is the dreamworld. The darker parts which hold many minds captive can be accessed through either the normal route - which in your case won't work as those dreamworld people would find out and probably stop you - or through the skyworld. You have to go through what is known as the dark-sky phenomenon. It is also known as the 'Fall to Hopelessness'."
  
  I was no quitter. My daughter was the only driving force I had, the only motivation in my life. Rosa would go through this for me, and I owed her that same favour.
  
  "How do I get there?"
  
  "Take a plane upwards, and when you get close to the ozone layer, yell, 'Skyworld resero'."
  
  He could be saying this to kill me, but I had nothing to live for if I did not try.
  
  > The Airport
  It was that time of the year when everyone decided to travel for the holidays. My girls and I used to travel a lot too. Rosaline had always enjoyed getting on the plane with absolutely no idea where we were going, and guess our holiday destination during our flight. Being here alone was certainly strange. I made sure my gun was well hidden before entering those front doors. When the guards looked at me strangely for not having any suitcases, I simply needed to tell them I was meeting my daughter here. It was the truth... well, partially.
  
  I was glad I didn't need to kill them - it would have been horrible to get into all the fuss with the police when all I really wanted to do was save my daughter.
  
  Getting around the place was a nightmare. Too many crowds, too few instructions. Nevertheless, I would do it all for my Rosa, to be the protector I always promised her I'd be. The dizzying lights were all much too bright, the noise ringing deafeningly in my ears. Was this why Van Gogh cut off his ear? I chuckled at the joke, thinking about the painter in such a chaotic airport. Thankfully, I managed to bypass security and bring my gun along after knocking out a policeman and stealing borrowing his uniform.
  
  "Excuse me, sir. Where are you going?" A flight attendant approached me.
  
  "Meeting my daughter."
  
  "Are you lost? These are the boarding terminals."
  
  "I'm not lost, I know where I'm going. I am supposed to observe some suspicious activity here." It took me a while to remember my new outfit.
  
  "Of course, sir." She turned her back, and as I walked over to the plane, she returned like an annoying mosquito. "Are you planning on joining the flight?"
  
  "Yes. Yes, I am."
  
  She frowned. "What-"
  
  I looked around and realized she was signaling to two other policemen. Real ones, this time. What was I to do?
  
  > board the plane before it's too late
  I rushed on board before the doors closed. For an old man, I kept in pretty good shape. I didn't need any fancy walking sticks or bulky wheelchairs. Everyone stared as I got in and the plane sped along the runway.
  
  "Sir, everyone who was supposed to board the plane has already arrived."
  
  I glared at the nosy man before me. "What is that supposed to mean? I paid for this flight, and I would be on it. In fact, I would be arresting you this very moment."
  
  "Arresting... surely you can't do that here?" He wasn't sure whether to laugh or apologize, so he did both. "Sir, haha, you must be joking. But sorry, sorry. Take your seat, and-"
  
  He moved to steady my shoulder, yet the plane chose this moment to jerk us violently across the aisle.
  
  "My seat's in another compartment," I muttered, rushing past the curtains.
  
  People screamed when they saw I wasn't seated. Guess how much louder those screams were when they saw my gun? Getting tired of wandering around this maze-like place, as well as feeling a little motion sickness creeping up on me, I decided to speed things up.
  
  "I won't shoot unless you bring me to the conductor of this place."
  
  "Who... whose grandpa are you?"
  
  "Do not make a mockery of me. I will kill before your very eyes unless you heed my demands."
  
  They laughed. Uproarious, insolent laughter. The same way Zerna laughed when he saw me trying to save Rosa. The way those bullies laughed when they insulted Rosaline for having an imaginary friend on her first day of middle school. And worst of all, this same laughter was once meant for my dear, dear wife, criticizing her for marrying me.
  
  It was only some time after, when all the cacophonous noise was gone, that I opened my eyes again. They were feebly stirring, lying in a pool of their own blood. Some of them died with the knowledge that their last words had been wasted in deriding an old man.
  
  About a dozen died that day, maybe more.
  
  I looked to the last survivor. "Lead the way."
  
  > In the skies above
  As I stood in the cockpit, seeing the plane slowly rise higher into the sky, I wondered how much she would have enjoyed this. Rosa, the little girl who stuck her head out of the window to feel the morning breeze. If I could have brought this moment with me, I certainly would have. I could imagine Rosaline serenely watching the clouds, asking me what each of them looked like.
  
  "Dad," she would say, "That one looks just like the cake you and mum had on your wedding day." Or perhaps she would comment on how blue the sky looked from up here.
  
  "As blue as your eyes," my wife would have said. "Although not nearly as deep."
  
  In that moment, I would have hugged them both, showering them with soft kisses on their heads. I would not have needed to say any words except contently watch them gaze at the sky.
  
  "So, you want to go... up?" the copilot snapped me out of my daydreams. "Just... up?"
  
  "Yes. I had gotten rid of the pilot because of how incompetent he was. So do as I say, and no one would get killed. Just up, and when I disappear, you can take the plane back down to resume your initial flight."
  
  "And what if you don't disappear?"
  
  I scowled. "Then just keep heading upwards. Don't stop 'til I say so."
  
  We went up. The sky became a whole lot darker and several more flight attendants began knocking on the locked door of the cockpit. "We just want to know if you're okay!"
  
  "Shut up so I can concentrate," the copilot yelled back. His mood was certainly a lot more sour now the original fear had left him.
  
  I closed my eyes, remembering the words I had to say. The plane moved a lot more shakily, slightly groaning from how much it had to resist gravity. If I had used a spaceship, I would have gone past the skyworld and landed in space instead. Not ideal at all. The copilot turned back and said, "You'd better say those magic words soon or we would reach the ozone layer and explode.
  
  "Fine, fine." I took a deep breath and recited the words.
  
  > Skyworld recito
  "Today, a very strange event took place in the Isocline airport. One of its planes went off course around a fifth of the way into the journey. It went upwards, far higher into the stratosphere than planes are designed to go, and shortly after, exploded. The remains have been found scattered off the shore of the west coast. Experts are still trying to figure out what happened to the pilots, two supposedly experienced professionals in their area. Around hundreds of people were estimated to have died in the explosion."
  
  I shook my head as the news reporter went on to talk about a different topic. My soul would soon be somewhere different. Somewhere where I could hopefully be reunited with my wife, and one day, dear Rosaline. The pain had been gone for some time, and perhaps he did intend to kill me by sending me up here on this perilous journey. Yes, that wicked man must have taken advantage of my misery and I was gullible enough to be tricked. Regardless of what happened, of whether or not the words I said were right, dying felt a lot more peaceful than I ever thought.
  
  I chuckled to think of all the trouble I did not need to go through if only I had taken this route to death a lot earlier.
  
  [A short note, even though it would probably break the immersion: Death should never be viewed this way. It is not an escape, so Mr. Cyzila has the wrong idea. If you ever want a way out of life's burden, death is certainly not it.]