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"
You
’
ve
never
heard
of
anyone
reliving
the
same
day
over
and
over
,
have
you
?
"
There
was
a
pause
before
he
replied
.
"
You
sure
you
’
re
awake
?
The
day
after
yesterday
’
s
today
.
The
day
after
today
is
tomorrow
.
If
it
didn
’
t
work
like
that
,
we
’
d
never
get
to
Christmas
or
Valentine
’
s
Day
.
Then
we
’
d
be
fucked
.
Or
not
.
"
"
Yeah
.
Right
.
"
"
Listen
.
There
’
s
nothin
’
to
tomorrow
’
s
operation
.
"
"
…
Right
.
"
"
Sweat
it
too
much
,
you
’
ll
turn
into
a
feedhead
-
end
up
losing
your
mind
before
they
even
get
a
chance
to
blow
your
brains
out
.
"
I
stared
blankly
at
the
aluminum
piping
of
the
bed
frame
.
When
I
was
a
kid
,
the
war
against
the
Mimics
had
already
started
.
Instead
of
cowboys
and
Indians
or
cops
and
robbers
,
we
fought
aliens
using
toy
guns
that
fired
spring
-
loaded
plastic
bullets
.
They
stung
a
little
when
they
hit
,
but
that
was
all
.
Even
up
close
they
barely
hurt
.
I
always
played
the
hero
,
taking
the
hit
for
the
team
.
I
’
d
spring
out
courageously
into
the
line
of
fire
,
absorbing
one
bullet
after
another
.
I
did
a
little
jump
with
each
successive
hit
,
performing
an
impromptu
interpretive
dance
.
I
was
really
good
at
it
.
Inspired
by
the
hero
’
s
death
,
his
comrades
would
launch
a
bold
counterattack
.
With
his
noble
sacrifice
,
he
’
d
ensured
humanity
’
s
salvation
.
Victory
would
be
declared
,
and
the
kids
who
’
d
been
the
bad
guys
would
come
back
to
the
human
side
and
everyone
would
celebrate
.
There
was
no
game
like
it
.
Pretending
to
be
a
hero
slain
in
battle
was
one
thing
.
Dying
a
hero
in
a
real
war
was
another
.
As
I
got
older
,
I
understood
the
difference
,
and
I
knew
I
didn
’
t
wanna
die
.
Not
even
in
a
dream
.
