Untitled Short Story

A short story that is the product of having too much time alone and being in love. the dreams within this tale, i actually had, although they have been expanded and elaborated upon.

Untitled Short Story

He tossed and turned violently in his sleep, muttering gibberish that only made sense in his dream.  Although it was impossible to know what his phrases literally meant from a listeners perspective, the sense of desperation and regret in his tone was undeniable.  The nonsense he was uttering aloud in his soporific state was reflective of the conflict tearing his very heart asunder. He was young, 18 years old, and already full of lamentations, like a bitter, crotchety old man morosely musing about a life that hadn’t even truly begun.  Like many lonely, desperate young men, he dreamt of a particular woman. He dreamt of a relationship that he knew would never come to fruition, he dreamt of her loving, maternal embrace, he dreamt of her smile, her kind words, and the millions of other things that made her dominate his conscious and subconscious mind. She was everything to him, he longingly gazed at the pictures he had of them together on their travels with a heavy heart and a glowing smile. Although he had never experienced its genuine mystique and had little insight into its true meaning, for all intents and purposes, he loved her. Even though she was over 40 years older than him, he was madly in love, maybe even obsessed with her. Her withered face, grey hair, wrinkly skin, and veiny arthritic hands were repulsive to many boys his age, but more than tolerable to the dreamer. Although age had taken much of her beauty, it could not rob her of her smile nor her bubbly disposition. Although an average looking woman in her late 50’s to most, to him she was absolutely intoxicating. She was a petite lady, with a wit sharper than obsidian and an Ivy League education to match. She was a loving, and caring woman who had been married for over 30 years and had children older than him. Her name was, to him, a euphonious compound of the two most gorgeous syllables ever to spring from the vocal cords. The dreamer didn’t just want to have sex with her, not even make love to her, all he truly wanted to do was lay down next to her, stroke her short, beautiful, grey hair, look into her aged hazel eyes and pitifully attempt to encapsulate his feelings for her within the confines of human speech.

He awoke from his dream with a smile on his face, but it quickly morphed into a deep frown, for he knew she was completely unattainable. This woman he felt so strongly for was totally incapable of reciprocating his feelings, and he knew this, yet he continued to be ensnared by her. No matter how hard he fought, he just couldn’t let go. After wading through the pointless itinerary of daily life, the day finally waned down towards the evening. Longing to be with her, if only for a night inside his thoughts, he eagerly awaited his dream, praying her unforgettable smile would give it some much needed color. He felt himself slipping, slipping into sleep. It was indeterminable how or why, but he found himself inside his childhood home. They were sitting together, the very sight of her made him feel so warm inside. He began telling her that he cherished her friendship and the time they spent together. A stark tension quickly growing in the room, she began to express her disgust with several cheeky remarks. She mocked his youth and his level of maturity. Her suddenly searing words were piercing his heart, brutally murdering his soul, and defying his false sense of manhood. She laughed at him and his feelings for her mockingly like a succubus. Her malicious laughter grew louder by the instant, eventually she was wailing like a banshee. Saying “don’t talk to me, I’m mad at you” like a petulant little girl, the laugh growing into more of a rabid vociferation. The contrast between her lady-like demeanor, middle aged self and the infantile voice she was echoing throughout his childhood home disturbed him immensely.

Her laugh was only becoming even louder. She made him feel subhuman with her criticism of the feelings that defined him. When it seemed that the cackling laughter would reach its zenith, it magically found a way to bend its notes and become even more disgusting and grotesque to the dreamer. It gradually became a supersonic screech. This almost now demonic sounding symphony of mockery and ostentatious disapproval terrified the dreamer. The woman whom he found irresistible, the woman he found so much comfort and serenity in, was making him weep like a lost child in a scenario scripted and acted out like a classical tragedy; within his own mind. His tears of desperation and unrequited love dropped onto the hardwood floor, this only exacerbated her wheezing laughter to an octave of indescribable horror. She both created and destroyed his very sense of self-worth and well-being via mental fiction. Yet it felt so real. Just when his nightmare had reached its climax, he suddenly felt like he was slowly falling into oblivion, like he was being transported to another dimension, in an abstract sense, he was quite correct. He awoke covered in sweat and deeply confused. He was also disturbed, hurt, depressed, miserable, angry, and hopeless, but mostly confused. Waking in a daze and feeling the cool morning air relieve him of the night’s heat; he stumbled out of bed and into the washroom, to begin his immensely monotonous daily routine. He was absolutely incapable of thinking about anything else but his dreams…and her. He went through his day lackadaisically as was per usual, not living in the now, not doing anything but thinking. He lived in a nebulous world. After several days and nights of pitch black stagnation, the dreamer once again found himself stuck in the inter-dimensional divide between realities and the nevermore.

He wandered aimlessly in the tundra. His breath looked like cigarette smoke in the frozen air.  He could feel the moisture of the snow upon his stubble. He was walking in an infinite forest. The snow was so heavy that its white purity made it easy to see even though it was the wee hours of the morning. Suddenly he saw a flash in the sky. It was bright and brilliant. He looked up and without even thinking he propelled himself off the ground and soared into the winter air. Majestically, he flew through the clouds. He owned the glacial atmosphere. He never felt so free, or so powerful. Leaping from cliffs, hilltops, and plateaus he truly may as well have been the lord of all creation. Flying came naturally to him, violating the very laws of gravity was as simple as riding a bicycle. He flew to the top of a giant hill, and looking below; he saw the source of the light. Possessing a moth like, magnetic attraction to it, he descended towards it. He slowly came upon the beacon. It was emitting itself from a mansion made of pure glass. Slowly he came to a stop, and floated back onto his feat. Being on the ground now, he felt inadequate and trapped, as if he was compromising himself by being confined to the earth. He trudged awkwardly through the snow, gradually stomping towards the crystal door. Immediately a dapper gentleman opened the door for him with a gleaming smile of earnest and an intimate grasp of the shoulder.

The glass house was massive and filled with all sorts of well-dressed ladies and gentleman. The women wore velvet dresses of all colors. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and amethysts adorned their garb. The men wore neutral colored tuxedos, some sported top hats. Everyone was drinking an incredibly rare and highly sought after wine. The people talked of politics, philosophy, and classics, with intentionally uppity jokes and insincere promises thrown in as well. The forced laughter and empty expressions of affection complemented the humdrum and thoughtless orchestral music. Although the glass house was full of people and noise, it felt completely hollow. He had never seen something that was so active, so ostentatious, yet it felt so artificial. Just as he let out a sigh and began to slowly walk out, out of the corner of his vision he saw a woman that looked too familiar. All the way across the immense glass floor, he caught a glimpse of her smile, the trademark smile that made him melt defied any and all imitation. She sat in a chair made of amber talking to no one, looking very out of place. He used his new found flight ability and gracefully glided towards her, landing flawlessly in the seat beside her. She instantly sported an intrigued and fulfilled expression on her chiseled face. They talked for what seemed like an entire evening, about anything and everything. He held her hand tightly, basking in the warmth of her eyes. He had to tell her about how free he felt when flying and how being aground made him feel unfulfilled. She made a humorous and adorable chuckle, it was unmistakably feminine, yet her middle aged voice gave it an illustrious force. She asked him to fly for her. He begged her to join him in the sky, but she humbly said “the sky isn’t for me; it’s yours and only yours”. He embraced her passionately, wishing he could be holding her among the clouds. He kissed her on the cheek and she displayed her smile, the smile that could be appreciated by a blind man. She said “You have to go now” in her honeyed, beautiful voice. He obeyed, not out of want but out of an imperative need to please her. He slowly ascended above the crowd, and launched himself out the door. He regretted his departure at once. Yet, the feeling of flight was active in his working mind, and made him feel whole again.

He commanded the skies with nothing but his body. He flew over the snowy land and through the chilly air for what seemed like forever. He witnessed all the wonders that the land offered. A herd of elk ran through the snow with almost as much majesty as he displayed when flying. The strong and stoic grizzly bear dipped its head in the almost frozen river in search of fresh salmon. The aurora borealis adorned the sky with not only vibrant colors, but lovely illustrations. Flowers, animals, people, and almost everything else were drawn beautifully and perfectly by the earth’s magnetism. He wished to share all of this organic beauty with her. He realized how much of a mistake he made. He turned completely around and raced back towards the glass house. Angry at himself for letting his immediate desire to please her conflict with his need for her, he flew faster than he knew how. He put every iota of strength he had into flying faster and faster, bolting back towards her arms. He pushed harder and harder, suddenly feeling as though he was slipping. The next thing he heard was glass shattering. He crashed through the now pitch black glass house. There was only the sound of nothing and the sight of midnight. The music had long stopped, the bottles gone dry, and the people had left, whisked away to god knows where. He got up slowly, crying out in pain he screamed her name, but she had left as well. He was completely alone in a cold, empty world. The woman he loved was completely unable to love him back, and so was the phantasm of her. Neither one could love him.

 

 

Author's Note

say whatever you want, i need your genuine opinion on my work. nothing offends me. if you think it sucks, tell me why.

Reviews

[Richard Man]

I am so glad to have collided with a fellow night-flyer... read my piece "Flying lessons".
I love how you take us the readers so easily through your dreams, phantasies and your conscious existence without stopping.. flight in words as well. Welcome to the cafe

[Derrick Crane]

hey thanks man i really appreciate your feedback. ill totally check out your stuff and tell you what i think