I remember as a kid, I had this dream. It starts with static on the television. I'm sitting on the floor in front of it. Taking in the dancing lights, and noise. I climb inside, and fall for what feels like hours.
I had fallen into an unusual space. And observed some men sitting at a bar, playing an even stranger game. One that explored a long standing tradition of storytelling. And soon enough I began to engross myself in this world's culture. It's art, it's history. Everything that has since been discarded.
In the dream, that's where my life began. I was born in that moment, and no other. I think about waking up one day in my bed. And then I begin to doubt myself. How could I remember a dream? When everyone else sleeps, they only see darkness.