Part one: The Jump

People screamed and ran while others watched, stunned, trying to figure out what just happened. Bits of red ribbon lay across the pavement and the mayor shook his head. He dropped the scissors in his hand, frustrated over not knowing how else to react. He threw his hands in the air and muttered about the crazy teenagers running by and interrupting the dedication ceremony for the new bridge. The military officials ran over to inform him of the forming situation of what appeared to be, not an act of defiance or some sort of crazy youth protest, but rather a possible suicide attempt in progress. With this news, the mayor changed his demeanor to show sympathy and concern towards the four young men who just ran past them. Immediately, the mayor turned and conversed with the General over how to handle the situation.

Already on the other side of the bridge, Micky tore off his jacket, tossed it to the ground and climbed onto the ledge of the bridge. Knowing that his friends were closing in on him, he took a breath and jumped. The other three scrambled to the ledge where Micky had jumped from, but they were too late to do anything about it. They stood there, staring in fear as they watched Micky plummet to the water below.

Micky sank, feeling the water incase him. He released all the air he had in his lungs, causing bubbles to surround him. Feeling relaxed, he allowed the water to consume him as he slowly drifted further and further towards the bottom of the ocean. He closed his eyes and lost all sense of direction. Everything seemed so serene and he felt the previous weight of the world, and all his worries dissolve away into the darkness of the ocean depths. Everything that led to his jump no longer mattered, and all thought about it ceased to exist. He was calm. He sank deeper and deeper, releasing all care into the water.

Everything became dark and he knew he was no longer breathing air. He tried to see through the water, only meeting a strange haze. Through that haze, all the colors seemed to mix and created surreal and bright colors that changed all around him. None of it made any sense, and yet, it all made perfect sense. He felt strange, as though he was between two worlds, the real and the fantasy. These two worlds as he witnessed them seemed to blend where it was no longer possible for him to determine one from the other. Opening his eyes all the way, he watched as two girls swam over to him. A few more bubbles escaped his lungs and he watched them float away before turning his gaze back to the girls. He melted into their gentle hands as they each took him by an arm and started carrying him away. It was at that point, where he realized that these girls had tails and fins. As odd as it was that he was just carried away through the water by real mermaids, he felt as though it was perfectly reasonable and just what was expected.

Allowing the mermaids to swim away with him to some unknown location, Micky relaxed and grinned. His entire life he had never been more comfortable or more content than he was now. He grinned and watched the changing colors around him, melting completely as everything began to fade away.

…

A strange buzz filled Micky's head as he felt himself enter a realm of semi-consciousness. This buzz was a mixture of noises, all of which he wasn't sure what they were. Unfamiliar sensations surrounded him and he felt as though he was paralyzed. A weight fell upon his chest as he struggled to breathe. He soon realized that he was in a bed but something was strange about it. The blanket was thin and itchy. The mattress seemed slightly lumpy. Something wrapped around his wrist and he felt something sharp poking into his skin. He was confused as he tried to open his mouth, still struggling to breathe on his own, and he felt something hard and plastic over his throat. Confusion and panic swept through him as he tried repeatedly but with fail to move, to speak, to open his eyes.

Strange mechanical sounds began to become clear to him as the buzzing and beeping of machines. Though he could finally determine the source of these sounds, he still found it odd and puzzling. As he tried to make sense over why he was hearing these machines, or even what type they were, he noticed other sounds. He began to turn his focus on these new sounds and realized, although they seemed strangely muffled and far away, these were voices. The voices of these other people sounded so alien to him and seemed to be speaking some sort of foreign language. Soon, the alien quality to these voices started to fade away and morphed into the voices of people he recognized, and the strange foreign language slowly became regular English. Even though he recognized the language now, he still could not quite make out what was being said, or even the exact speakers. He tried to open his mouth in an attempt to speak, to communicate with whoever was around him. When he realized that he was incapable of speaking or just opening his mouth, he grew frustrated and wanted to scream. Knowing that this was as possible as talking at the moment, he grew even more frustrated.

"Do you think he'll wake up?" Mike asked, his voice echoing through Micky's mind.

Wake up? What is he talking about? I am awake. Is that Mike?

"I'm going to be honest with you, mister Nesmith." an unfamiliar voice said "Even though people do wake up from comas; it is not certain how any of this occurs. Micky may wake up, but we can't determine when or if he does."

What does that mean? Why are they talking about me like that? Can't they see I'm awake?

Peter looked at the doctor with wide, sorrowful eyes "You mean…" he swallowed "You mean Micky might never wake up from this." He looked at Micky, moving closer to the bed. Tears began to form in his eyes. "Doc… there has to be something you can do…"

Peter? No, please, really… I'm fine. Look… I'm here. I'm awake. Come on Big Peter… Please don't be upset… Really, I'm ok. See?

"I'm sorry." the doctor said, "There's no guarantee that he will wake up. And all that can be done for him is already being done."

Wait. What? Never wake up? No! Don't tell them that! I'm awake! I'm awake! Why can't you see this?

Davy sighed and looked at Micky. "So this is it? This is how he'll be until…" he trailed off as he sat next to Micky, not taking his eyes off him

Davy… no. No you've got to see that I'm ok… Guys what's going on? Why are you all acting like this? Ok joke's over ha ha… look I'm awake I swear! Here I'll move and you'll see.

"I'm not going to say there's no hope for him." the doctor said, "He just might pull through this. I just can't say for certain if he will. You just have to hang in there and have faith. Sometimes people in comas pull through with verbal encouragement."

Guys this isn't funny at all. I'm not moving. Help! I'm not moving! Guys please… you have to help me.

"Verbal encouragement?" Mike asked, confused "You mean… talk to him and he'll wake up?" Skepticism ran thick through his voice.

"Well it's not quite that simple. Right now he's in there, fighting. You could say he's at war; stuck in a world between life and death. I've seen a lot of amazing things occur since becoming a doctor; things that medical science can't explain. I've seen this sort of thing before, the more people talk to their loved ones in this condition, the better it seems to be for them. Hearing familiar voices helps them to fight and pull through easier."

Mike stood silent for a moment, as he listened to the doctor speak. He nodded with a small sigh and turned to face Micky in the bed. Moving over to the bed, he pulled up a chair and placed a hand over Micky's limp one.

"It's worth a try…" he said quietly. "Mick… you heard him… I know you did…" he swallowed and gathered his thoughts. "You've got to fight, okay? We need you to come back to us, buddy. We need you." he sighed "Micky l… we shouldn't be here. We should be onstage performing… like we do best." He looked down for a moment and took Micky's hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Just fight, Mick. Keep fighting… you gotta keep fighting."

…

Micky found himself surrounded by darkness. Screams began to fill the void, but these screams almost seemed to come from a distance. At first, they reminded him of cheering fans at a concert. He could see himself, along with the other guys, getting ready for a show. Then suddenly, Mike's voice telling him to fight echoed through his mind and the screaming fans morphed into a different type of sound. These were no longer screams that he heard. These screams had become the whistles of far off bombs dropping. Sounds of explosions mixed with machine guns and tanks firing off artillery. Men's voices began shouting all around him. Micky felt a hand grab his shoulder, startling him. Hs eyes popped open and he stared back into the panicked eyes of Peter.

"Micky! We're running low on ammunition!"

"W-wah? Peter? What's going on?" He looked at him, stunned, seeing that he was in an army uniform. He jumped up and suddenly saw his war trench surroundings. "Peter! What's going on?!"

"Micky!" Peter handed him a rifle "We're low on ammunition! You have to get some for us!"

"Me? What? Me? Why do I have to get-" he stammered as he looked around in a panic

Mike popped his gum and glanced back at them. "Peter get him to calm down. Davy get up here, looks like you'll have to go out there for us."

"Out there?" Davy asked, stepping up to the edge of the trench. "I can't see it's too deep!"

"What did you say?" Mike asked, looking down at him

"I can't see nothing! It's too deep!"

Micky, sinking back down into the dirt, feeling a mixture of emotions, looked over at Mike and Davy. Nothing made sense. He couldn't understand how they got in this trench or how they even wound up in this war. He wasn't even sure what war this was. Trying to sort through all his emotions, he sighed and reached up to remove his helmet. Glancing up at Davy, he handed it to him, offering it for him to stand upon. Micky was sure he wouldn't actually need it since this couldn't possibly have been a real war. Even if he had got hit by something, he surely wouldn't actually feel it. He even pictured himself rolling around in the dirt and groaning in pain, mocking the act of getting hit by a stray bullet, but that only made him feel worse about everything.

Peter, who sat next to him, trying to help ease his thoughts and emotions, removed his own helmet and handed it to Micky. Looking confused at Peter and at the helmet, Micky declined it, still unsure of why he needed it. Peter sighed, giving him a sad, yet sympathetic look and told him he needed the helmet to keep fighting.

"Keep fighting?" Micky asked, even more confused

"Micky, please, you have to fight." Peter said, pleadingly

"Fight what?"

"You have to fight for us. For yourself. Please, Micky."

Peter's voice seemed to grow more desperate and sad as he spoke to Micky. He even sounded to be on the verge of tears as he kept urging Micky to fight and pull through the war he was in. Micky still couldn't understand any of what was happening. He looked around, taking in all the sights from deep inside the trench. Suddenly Mike barked an order at Peter, sending him into the line of fire for more ammunition. Micky sat there, stunned that Peter had actually put himself in this position for all of them. He stood and headed towards the edge of the trench and peeked out to watch Peter. His eyes widened as he watched Peter run, dodging fire from every direction before eventually disappearing into a different trench half way across the battlefield. He began to tremble, fearing for Peter's life. Fear and confusion swept over him, as did his thoughts and the repeated phrases spoken by his friends, telling him to keep fighting. It still wasn't even clear to him what he was supposed to be fighting for, or even why they kept telling him this. As he tried to make sense of all this, he almost missed what Mike was saying, unsure if it was about Peter or about him.

"He won't make it through this intense bombardment. Nobody could."

Just after Mike had finished his dire statement, Peter returned triumphant and with the much needed ammunition. He tossed Micky a gold colored football helmet, suddenly bringing a smile to his face. The four of them ran out of the trench and across the battlefield to a tunnel. Bombs exploded and they escaped through the tunnel. The screams returned and the scenery changed. Suddenly confusion swarmed Micky as they were now running backstage towards an arena full of screaming fans. They reached the stage and there was a noticeable energy shift. Everyone was smiling, excited to begin their performance. The excitement in the crowd grew more intense, building up more and more throughout the song that the band played. Micky looked up from his drums and his face fell. The crowd's screams seemed much less excited and more vicious. He looked at the other three and saw the growing panic on their faces. Davy looked at him, giving a nod.

"Fight it, mate. You have to fight."

"What?" Micky asked, even more puzzled than before. "The fans?"

"Just, fight it." Davy said before looking towards the crowd.

Micky watched in horror while the crowd swarmed the stage. They took down Davy first, tearing him to shreds as though he was a mannequin. The fans were crazed, ripping the clothes off them and tearing them apart limb by limb. Micky panicked as the fans came over to him last. He tried to run but there were too many girls, screaming his name. They knocked him down, crowding him into a corner behind his drums. As they started to claw at him and rip at his clothes, everything began to fade away. He closed his eyes tight, but he could still hear, although much more faint, the sounds of the screaming fans in his mind.

…

Mike sat, mindlessly flipping through the channels on the television. For hours, he had spent by Micky's bedside. He hadn't moved from his chair except to occasionally stretch or to go into the bathroom. He let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at Micky, not noticing as Peter and Davy entered the room. Peter walked over to the bed while Davy remained by the door and shoved his hands into his pockets. Peter looked up at the TV screen, watching as Mike flipped back and forth between two channels; one showing endless coverage of the Vietnam War, the other showing recorded footage from a concert. Frowning, Peter looked at Mike.

"Hey… you've been going back and forth between those two same channels for the past half hour."

"Yeah well I'm highly interested in both programs." Mike mumbled. He sighed and dropped the remote onto the bedside table before looking helplessly at Micky.

He didn't have to say anything. Neither of them did. The forlorn expression he bore showed what they were all feeling. Except for sounds from the television and the machines working to keep Micky alive, everything in the room fell silent as the three friends watched over Micky. Seeing him in this state was too much for either of them to bear. He seemed so lifeless; a complete turn from his normal energetic, bubbly, humorous self. Micky was always the one who kept the four of them together. Now, with him in this state, struggling to hang on to life, neither of them knew what to do. They had no idea how they were going to make it through this, but they knew they had to stick together in order to help Micky.