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Basketball Court, Lost Haven. 12:00 A.M.

The tips of his fingers kept a steady rhythm's tap against the head of the basketball. Its round surface thundered against blacktop concrete and expanded out into the lonely midnight air. A quick switch from his right hand to his left and Hassan accelerated past the defender he had left frozen in place from the quick shift in speed. A second victim approached, this one far larger than the last and blessed with superior wingspan. Fathead was what the other kids called him for, as one may guess, his unfortunate cranium construction. But just like before, Fathead fell before Hassan's lightning quick ball control; one move through the legs and a single transition behind his back put Fathead on his behind. Hassan had free passage to the rim and this was game point.

He missed.

"You some ass, boy." Fathead scolded from the blacktop pavement. Hassan thought he should worry about lugging himself and his gargantuan noggin up from the ground and deal with the fact that he got dropped by a kid half his size first. But no worries, Hassan harbored no bitter feelings.

"Whatever, fool." Hassan returned, "Ball up!" he continued. A sacred mandate among his group of friends. One always had to honor this unspoken tradition; if you missed, no matter how bad or how embarrassing, the other team always got the ball next. These were the rules, and may God bless any soul who thought it acceptable to break them. Fathead chest passed the ball to Hassan, it was forceful exchange; an extension of Fathead's embarrassment for sure. Hassan's phone rang; he waved a finger at Fathead to signal a respite from the game.

"Yoooo?" he began, unguarded and unaware of the caller since he didn't bother to check the number.

"'Yo'? Is that how you answer the phone, Hassan?" it was his mother!

"[i]Oom[/i]" Hassan almost choked.

"Where are you? It's late, you were supposed to be home TWO HOURS AGO!" Hassan almost felt the spit flying through the phone as his mother went on her tirade.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Hassan nervously re-assured.

"I [i]know[/i] you're coming! Get. Your. Ass. Here. NOW!" Bibi capped. The phone went dead.

No amount of antagonizing from his questionable friend group could halt him from sprinting at what felt like mach 2 speed (he was only running at about five miles an hour) toward home. Wind cut by him as a knife through butter. In just under thirty minutes Hassan was home. Jubilee welled inside him, his mother's ire had roused her to sleep. Sleep seeped into Hassan much the same and he made his way to his room where he was prompt in unveiling his red, white, and blue covers away from his bed sheets. It took all of ten minutes for him to fade into REM sleep.

Then the visions happened.