Herb was not easily bothered. He'd been bothered junior year when Cindy said no to prom. He'd been bothered when his parents died skydiving. And he'd been bothered a week prior when he saw a brown poodle pee on a little person wearing a red rain jacket. He knew poodles were an intelligent breed and couldn't decide if the dog thought it was a fire hydrant or had a sick sense of humor.

As Herb pulled into the small ten-car parking lot of the single-story office building, he was bothered by the sunflower. He was bothered by the flower sitting on the porch he'd pressure-washed twice last week. He was bothered that someone had marched up his driveway to place it on his porch. Nobody came up his driveway. For Halloween, Herb custom ordered a lawn sign that read "No candy. Keep going." But he was most bothered by the note, its implications, and what that meant for his future.

Herb's silk pajamas made a slight wisp with each step as he walked across the parking lot. He tried to calm his mind. He ran through three relaxation exercises in the 30 steps it took to get to the front door. As he pulled open the door to the office's lobby, the state of bliss he had just achieved was shattered by the throaty sound of Amelia Harper's voice.

The lobby was small with black and green pinstriped wallpaper that reminded Herb of his grandparents' house before they'd passed away in a walking accident. The only piece of furniture was a heavy, mustard-yellow desk centered on the back wall where Amelia, the summer intern, chatted gleefully on the chorded office phone.

She was facing away from the front door with her swivel chair tilted back. Her burnt-pink hair hung over back of the chair. The fluorescent color somehow stayed just as bright through Herb’s 15% Visual Light Transmission lenses. When he’d first met her, he’d wished he was colorblind.

The closing door startled Amelia causing her to spin around. When she saw Herb, she quickly slammed down the phone without saying bye and mouthed "sorry" repeatedly. Herb raised a hand and thought, "It's ok," but didn't say it out loud. Amelia used her pointer finger to scan the day's list, silently lifted three fingers, and then pointed to a door to her right. Herb raised his hand and thought, "Thank you, Amelia," but again spoke nothing.

The door opened to a long white hallway with five doors on either side, numbered one to ten. Herb stood outside door number three. He pulled his white-noise earbuds from his pocket and slid them in his ear. The sound of warm static helped him force two consecutive yawns. He reached his hands to the ceiling and arched his back so his fingers pointed at the wall behind him. He forced two more yawns and opened the door.

The room was lit in a low red light. It was bare except for a bed frame, mattress, and nightstand with a 12 oz water bottle and a clicker. The door in the back corner led to a small restroom. A low-output air freshener gave the room a light hint of lavender.

Herb rubbed his temples and examined the bed. It was a queen, either 15 or 16 inches thick, built for heavyset individuals. He picked up the index card off the center of the comforter. Some Quality Assurance Sleep Specialists didn't like knowing the item's name they were testing. Herb thought that was silly. How can you thoroughly test a product without knowing what the company is going for?

He read the index card and cringed: "Snorelax Supreme."

Why would a company openly name a mattress after a condition commonly associated with sleep disorders? However, 16-inch mattresses are more comfortable for heavyset individuals, and typically, they snore, so maybe it was an accurate name. If that were the case, the marketing department for this product was too literal and needed more creativity. If that wasn't the case, the marketing department had overstepped and needed less creativity.

Herb drank half the water bottle, removed his slippers, and slid under his Egyptian cotton sheets. He grabbed the clicker off the nightstand and pressed its single button to turn off the light. He laid on his back with his fingers intertwined on his stomach. He controlled his breathing and let his mind go blank. He focused on inhaling, holding, and exhaling slowly. Within a minute and 33 seconds, Herb was asleep.

Herb was at the ocean lounging in a Tommy Bahama beach chair; his body was lathered in sunscreen. He could hear the sound of kids he knew were his own, running around him, squealing as they played in the sand. The beach was crowded with tourists, but he easily blocked them out. He was at complete peace.

Herb heard someone approaching from behind. He smiled as he felt the tap on his shoulder. He looked up and smiled at the woman. The sun was shining over her shoulder, making it impossible to see her face. Herb never saw her face. She held out an iced coffee, which he grabbed and verbally said, "Thank you, dear." She sat beside him as he looked back to the ocean.

Herb had once read a quote online by Dr. Seuss that stated, "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." Why did real life need to be better than dreams? When those are your expectations, you get stressed. You can't sleep. You live with anxiety, which causes your real life and dream life to be one exhausting existence. No, Herb loved his dreams. He loved this beach, his fake kids, and his faceless wife. He was content.

He sipped his flavorless iced coffee and smiled. He examined the magnificent sandcastle he'd built with his kids at some point earlier in the day. He looked at the rolling waves and then the parasailer in the distance. A plane flew by, pulling a banner that read "Snorelax Supreme." Herb cringed again.

Suddenly, Herb was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. This never happened. This was his happy place, his escape; this was paradise. The fear grew and overwhelmed him as he rocked uncomfortably in his now-too-small beach chair. His pulse quickened, and his brain knew he was sweating under his sheets. As he faded to and from the dream, he scanned the beach. The plane's banner had changed; it now read, "I know it's been you." His eyes jolted from the plane to the beach, and there, a mere ten 10 feet away, sat the giant potted sunflower.