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. Getting up 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 cleaning 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 with a grimace as I snatch them from the closet. Lying them 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 to make some breakfast. Cereal should be good for now. I don't feel like making waffles with eggs and sausages. Once I'm 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. Walking down the stairs and heading to my car, I unlock it and go inside. Starting my car, I exit my parking space and go onto the road. On the road, a bunch of cars go up and down, probably heading home or to work. By the time I make it to The Oregonian, I park my car in the packed lot and shut it off. Once I'm out, walking to the building, a small gray and black bird is moving along the sidewalk.

It moves its head like it's picking at something in the air. Then it locks eyes with me when it realizes I'm watching it. I try to shoo it away, but it remains still 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. Everybody else is 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 accept his offer.

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

"Thanks..."

"And don't sweat, I expect you to finish in 3 to 4 hours once I'm back."

"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. Pressing 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 to six. The door of the elevator opens and reveals a spacious room. The room has people wandering around, going from station to station, a series of screams are heard over errors of article drafts. 

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. Bringing it up to my face, a sea of words entrenches my mind with boredom until one hits me.

Apartheid...? 

Now fully aware, I go back to the top of the letter and reread.

"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. Back then, to hope for a bright future 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 can't describe how I'd been feeling. It was like seeing a caged bird finally be able to fly free; it was beautiful."

Interesting read. 

I place the paper back on my desk and grab two other folders. From opening each one, documents and photos of a man, Nelson Mandela, standing and smiling. When 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 at 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've seen outside before heading into work, tapping on the window with its beak. I stare 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.

Amazing, so I wasn't crazy. "Get out of here, now. Don't you have somewhere to be? To take care of your things?" If only I'm not stuck here.

Shaking my head, I return to my computer, press on the Microsoft word icon, and the white online document appears on the screen. I blink a couple of times, before my eyes become heavier and heavier by each second. No sound of keyboard mashing, no sound of journalists chatting, it is peaceful. Then, I feel the wind blowing on the side of my face. Waking up, I 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. Turning around, 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 know, what would happen to me? I'll get fire from my job, then probably 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. Regaining my balance, I fly back into the sky and join the pigeon. Seeing patches of clouds further down the atmosphere, I fly towards the clouds and 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. What happened, Morgan?"

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

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

You little shit. "Mr. Asa, you didn't notify me earlier about Jerry and these documents 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.

By the time I leave the office and out of the building, 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. Looking up, my body feels light. I look down and my feet aren't touching the ground.