It was another day of follow-the-leader. Jameson Erlin had always played this game so well, just as everyone else had. He had followed the lead of the society that shaped him, the lead of his parents, the lead of his co-workers, the lead of the people in charge. All thoughts in his mind were given to him by someone else and he was grateful for the gifts. He knew of no one who wasn't grateful, except for the outcasts, but they didn't matter, anyway.

The tram turned the corner into the factory Jameson had worked at since the completion of his education. It loomed in the foreground like the videos of mountains outside the city. Slowing down to pass the gates Jameson looked over in the distance at the outcast's compound and wondered, for the first time, if those people ever regretted being in the compound. That thought startled him. Why would he care about them? All his life he had been told that outcasts weren't even worth discussing, let alone thinking about. And yet now he wondered about their thoughts. He realized that this trepidation must have showed on his face because Talbot had leaned forward in his seat and was looking at Jameson.

"Something you ate?" Talbot tried to joke, but his concern showed.

"Yeah, that must be it. I'm okay, now." Jameson feigned a grin back at his neighbor and friend.

"Shouldn't change your diet during the work week." Talbot turned back to his newspad and went about looking as though nothing had happened. Jameson looked down at his own newspad but the words seemed a jumble to him. Instead he thought about Talbot, covering for him in his own paternal way. Talbot Anders and his wife had been the first people he met when he moved into the factory-issued house he lived in. They had come over like any good neighbor to greet the new arrival to their neighborhood and had remained friends since then. Jameson had always liked him and Mira. They would have him over on days off from work and helped each other with their yards and jobs. Talbot was older, closer to Jameson's father's age, but easier to talk to than his own father. His eyes danced when he spoke of his family, his wife and two daughters, but it seemed to be the only time Jameson could remember ever seeing Talbot enthused about anything. Otherwise he was like all the other people he knew, going about his business and following the rules.

The tram entered the factory and all the workers disembarked, each scanned in for the day's work. Jameson and Talbot worked side-by-side on the re-former line, taking the sheets of metal and making bolts. No one ever talked about what they were making or why, they just did their jobs. Day in and day out they made bolts for machines and nobody knew what the machines were for. On this day Jameson began to wonder.

Jameson had tried to go about his business all day on the line, this being the first time that he actually had to concentrate on what he was doing. He wondered if the concentration showed on his face but then remembered that none of the other workers would even care to look up from their jobs. It took even more energy to avoid looking up at them, to see if anyone was watching. By the end of his shift he was exhausted. He hadn't thought about pacing himself, only working, working, working. By the time he and Talbot ended their shifts and left for the trams home he could feel the sweat beading up on his brow and hoped his friend wouldn't notice.

"You must really be tired to look so bad." Talbot's words cut through to Jameson's soul. "See, if you had a wife to keep your meals straight and remind you to take your sleep-inducers this wouldn't happen. The job shouldn't tire you out."

Fatherly concern, thought Jameson. "Too bad your daughters are too young to be married." Oh, no! A joke! Would Talbot notice?

The two of them entered the tram and picked up their evening newspads. Jameson noticed that Talbot seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"Mira says I joke the most when I'm tired, too."

The rest of the ride home was quiet, as always. Jameson now felt a little more easy, hitting the scan buttons on the newspads in sync with the others but only seeing a tangle of words. He thought about the outcasts in the camps, searching his brain for anything he could remember being told about them. "I'll think about them later, when nobody's around, when I can try to think."

At their stop they waved good-bye and Jameson, for the first time all day, felt a sense of relief, knowing he was finally safe for at least one night, hoping by morning he would not care about anything again, that all would be normal once more.

The evening was a forced one. He went about his nightly routines, organizing his clothes in daily order, left to right. All the uniforms were the same but he made certain to wear them in order so that they each had the same amount of wear. He washed the clothes he had worn that day and hung them, starched and pressed, at the far right side of the closet. His evening meal was the same as he had every night, at the same time. He watered his meticulous garden and pulled and tossed the new weeds directly into the garbage. Laying out his night-clothes he stepped into the shower before bed. He let the water run over him and wanted to melt down the drain with it. He knew that something was wrong - his mind was racing when it should be empty. What had he heard about the outcasts? Why wouldn't people go near the compounds they were herded into? How did they become outcasts? Were they born that way, did they have an accident which made them different, what happened?

Suddenly, his water went off and he realized he had used up his shower allocation for the evening. He still had soap in his hair! This had never happened before. Quickly, he ran to the darkened kitchen and stuck his head under the faucet to finish getting the soap out. There was always water in the kitchen supply, yet the housing unit only allowed a limited amount of shower time. It had never occurred to him why, just a fact of life. For each household each person was given a limited ration of shower water, no more, no less. Did someone monitor this? Did they know that, for the first time, he had used up his nightly allowance? Fear now poured over him, a fear he never knew he had. He felt truly alone.

The dreams were annoying, only because they seemed to override the sleep-inducers Jameson had taken. At least, he thought they were dreams. The clarity of the sounds, the smells, the sights overwhelmed him and he didn't feel like he could or wanted to fight them.

There were people doing things he'd never seen before: laughing, painting, playing, arguing, loving. Their voices were filled with life, their eyes watching things around them. Jameson wandered among them as if he belonged there. People walked by him, nodding hello, smiling. He soon felt a grin on his face, a new and serene feeling. Suddenly, a woman came up to him and touched his arm. He felt he should pull away but instead leaned into her grasp.

"You understand so little. I can help. Follow me." He somehow felt that her eyes held all the answers to his questions.

They walked together passed rows of houses, each different. He was so used to all the houses being the same that it never occurred to him that difference was even possible. Yet here they were, 2-story, single story, large, small, well-kept, weed-ridden. And yet they all fit. By a large field they stopped and the young woman sat on the grass. As if instinctively, Jameson joined her on the soft blades.

"You can't do this in your reality, can you?" MY REALITY? thought Jameson, although she was right. There were no parks for public use where he lived, everything was cordoned off simply to be looked at.

"Where am I?"

She smiled broadly and tossed her head back. "Your town. My reality."

He felt as if he should be afraid and yet he was simply filled with curiosity. "Your reality? Isn't there just one reality?"

The young woman ran her fingers through the grass, damp with the evening dew, and looked into Jameson's eyes. He'd never had anyone look so deeply into him before. He felt violated. "There are many realities. You've crossed over into mine. Others have."

Which others, he thought. Then the answer seemed obvious.

"The outcasts." he whispered and she nodded. Suddenly he forgot his violation and felt the fear filling him again.

"You mean I'm an outcast?! But that can't be! I've always done what was expected of me! I've never questioned anything! Why?!"

"The ones you called the outcasts are simply open and tuned to possibilities that your society isn't. They aren't defective, actually they're enhanced, able to understand all life and all possibilities in life."

Jameson couldn't believe this. He was a good citizen, not an outcast. Confused, he jumped up and started to bolt from the woman, her words resonating in his head.

"You'll be back. You know things are different, that things are meant to be different."

Jameson awoke to the sound of his alarm. He was covered in sweat, his bedcovers strewn across the floor. He silenced his alarm and quickly washed off in the bathroom. A dream, that's all, he tried to reassure himself. And yet the sleep-inducers were meant to prevent dreams. Dreams were bad, distorting reality, frowned upon by the government. Why had he managed to have this dream even with the inducers? He checked the bottle and counted the pills inside. Yes, he had taken one last night. Maybe he needed a stronger dosage, maybe 2 tonight. But he began to worry. What if he ran out and needed more sooner than he normally bought them? What if the government kept track of the how many inducers people bought, like with the water? He had never worried about this before, never wondered if the government watched things like this. After all, it was the government that gave him his education, his job, his home. Weren't they trying to take care of him? Didn't they even take care of those who didn't follow the rules? Even the outcasts had housing, food, clothes. The government took care of everyone, deserving or not. He shook his head, as if to knock the previous night out of it, and got dressed for work.

Speeding to catch up from his thoughts he finished his morning routine and ran to the door, stopping momentarily to compose himself. "Just calm down. Don't act different." He took a deep breath and proceeded outside, noting all the other workers leaving at the same time. Talbot was at the end of his walk waiting for Jameson.

"Two seconds late today. Stay up a little later pulling weeds?"

Jameson nodded and smiled briefly. "Must be watering too much. They're coming in stronger than my garden."

Talbot chuckled, knowing how meticulous his neighbor was about his yard. "Too little and no garden, too much and a crop of weeds. Mira has the same problem."

They entered the tram for work together, picking up their newspads and headed to work. Jameson began to see this as a game and today he was going to win, not letting his thoughts over-take him.

The monotony of the job coupled with a fitful night's sleep made it easier for Jameson to get through his job that day. He stared down at the bolts going down the line making one after another, letting the sound of the machinery lull him into a controlled stupor. By the end of the work day he felt numb, like the other workers, like he had in the past. Boarding the tram home he let the hodgepodge of words on the nightly newspad glide by its screen in sequence to the other worker's pads.

When he got off the tram he and Talbot walked slowly up the walkway to their homes. They now had the mandatory day off coming them tomorrow, the time to stock up on supplies and spend time with families. It had never occurred to him before how tired he was until now, and wondered if he had always been this tired after a 6-day shift.

"Mira and I are having a cook-out tomorrow. You're more than welcome to come over."

"I've got to get my weekly supplies in the morning but I'll be free by dinnertime."

Talbot seemed taken back for a brief second. Jameson ALWAYS got weekly supplies on day off, why remind him? Jameson saw the look on his friend's face and just tried to keep the conversation going.

"I'm just running low on gardening supplies and may need to add a stop to the weekly list. It won't take that much longer."

Talbot bought the excuse. "Dinnertime then."

With a nod of agreement both men entered their respective homes.

Jameson went about his nightly routine only this time there was a new feeling in him. He couldn't pinpoint it but he thought he actually felt it could be excitement, like the time he found out he passed his psychological tests and got his education completion certificate and a job. He thought, at that time, that it was an odd feeling because it should have just seemed a normal progression but he still felt excited.

Since there was no work the next day he decided not to take sleep-inducers that night and just see what would happen.

The park seemed cooler this evening and Jameson noticed clouds in the sky. There were never any clouds under the metrodomed city he lived in and he knew he had returned. He looked around for the woman from the night before but she was nowhere to be seen. He walked through the streets, passing people and smiling at them as they walked by. This seemed so natural to him, warming him against the cool breeze. The fear and uncertainty of the night before was gone. Without the sleep-inducers everything seemed brighter, even normal. He didn't seem to worry about whether he found the woman now, he just wanted to drink in the sweetness of this town.

Near an abandoned building he found a boy sitting on a crate and reading a book. Looking up, he smiled and invited Jameson to sit next to him.

"Tammy knew you would return. She can always tell."

Pulling up a crate next to the boy, Jameson felt almost overwhelmed by the questions that burdened his mind but could only get one out.

"Why?"

The boy put his book in his lap and looked up at the sky. "She's sensitive that way. Tuned in to her destiny and the destinies in others."

"Including mine?"

The boy turned his eyes and peered into Jameson. "She says destiny is like a golden glow on our horizon. Most people are on a single highway heading to the horizon, but some look away, to the fields and mountains, and wonder what's off in another direction."

Jameson saw himself in his mind, peering off the tram and thinking about the outcasts, believing they were the fields and mountains.

Closing his eyes, the boy continued, "Some stop wondering and take another path, running through the fields and climbing the mountains." He paused, as if drowning in the beauty of the picture he was painting, and then slowly opened his eyes and gazed ahead. "We all reach the horizon, some are just fortunate to take the scenic route."

There were so many questions but before he could utter any words the blare of his alarm shattered the air around him. He looked around and found himself sitting up in his bed, back in his own icy reality. And he shivered, fearing he would never feel warm again.

After a day of stocking up on weekly supplies, he boarded the tram home. The trip took longer than expected, since he had to go back and get some gardening supplies, even though he didn't need them. He just didn't want Talbot to ask why he didn't bring them home, since that was on his list. His items secured in the back with the other riders supplies, he sat and read the newspad. This time he realized what he was reading - daily factory outputs, weekly outcast arrests, proclamations of the serenity of the system. It was the same every day, but Jameson never realized it until now. His eyes lifted off the newspad and looked at the distance, yearning to take the scenic route home.

Turning the corner to his home he saw the confusion up ahead. Fire trucks blocked the street and smoke filled the air. He forgot about his supplies and jumped off the tram before it could come to a complete stop. As he ran down the street he saw the awful truth - Talbot's house had burned to the ground. An enforcement officer stopped him mid-stride and held him back.

"That's my neighbor! I live next door!"

"Don't worry," the officer said, "your house isn't damaged."

"What about my friends?"

The officer didn't seem to understand Jameson's concern. "We found four bodies. But we've already contacted their relatives to retrieve the remains."

He let Jameson go and directed him home. Talbot's house was blocked off so he knew that he wouldn't be able to go over there. As he entered his own home he was shaking. He didn't care if his house was damaged, he would rather have it destroyed and have his friends alive. As he looked out the window he realized that nobody was outside to see what had happened. They were just going about their own business, letting the fire crews do their jobs.

Jameson sunk into his bed, sobbing. "This isn't right. They should care."

As the grief overwhelmed him he fell asleep from the exhaustion.

Tammy stood over the bed, caressing Jameson's hair. He wanted to hold her, to have her tell him he had imagined everything.

"I want to stay here."

She sat on the bed next to him, and let her eyes linger on his gentle features.

"You can't stay but you can visit anytime you want. There are others from your reality who visit here often."

Jameson felt sick, thinking of living in the compound with the other outcasts. It was against everything he had been brought up to believe was acceptable.

"All my life I've fought the thoughts in my mind, focusing on what I was told was right." He sat up and tried to get a grasp on his life. "And now I find it was all for nothing."

Tammy smiled and placed her hands on Jameson's face, as if she could shield him from any more despair. "Those thoughts are your guides to another path, a conduit to a reality that is open to people like yourself." He felt his arms slide around her waist and buried his head and his soul into the warmth of her shoulder. "I want to stay. I have to stay."

And Tammy gently rocked away his despair.

As his alarm sounded the next morning Jameson felt a chill.

Tammy. The park. The grass. The boy.

He sat up and looked around. There was no one there. He shut off the alarm and stretched as he got out of bed. Waves of memories buffeted him.

Talbot. His job. The outcasts. The fire.

His heart racing, confusion set in. Where was he? What had happened?

He walked to the window, afraid to peer out at his neighbor's house. Would it still be there? Would it look just like his? Would it be different? He forced his hand up to the curtains to look out and wondered what he would find. Was this all a dream he had just waken up from? Or was it a nightmare he must learn to live with?