The insomniac’s dream

I wandered the streets that night, wading though the fog, until I came to an alley which held both terror and delight.

There was a strange fog in the air that night. It was neither the kind of fog that rolls in like waves and settles over the land nor the thin wispy fog that swirls around your feet like lost souls. It was rather the kind of fog that darkens the streets and puts the gentlest haze around streetlamps. It was this fog that I found myself walking.

My physician had informed me that I had a quite normal condition that he referred to as insomnia, but that I referred as ‘trouble sleeping.’ He advised me to settle down with a glass of brandy and a good book. On some nights his advice worked wonders and before long my eyelids were slipping closed and I could sleep quite peacefully, but that was not always the case and quite often I found myself wandering the streets.

Tonight sleep seemed particularly evasive, and I had wandered up and down every road, street, and back alley I could and still I had yet to find the sleep I so craved. I began to take turns at random, making blind lefts and sudden rights, searching for someplace I had never seen. It was in this manner that I found myself turning down an unmarked alley in the middle of the workman’s district.

At first I thought that I had hit a dead end as I had done many times before but just as I was preparing to turn about I noticed a small door hidden deep in the darkest corner of the alley, above which hung a worn sign that read simply ‘the court’.

I smiled at my good fortune and began to stroll down the alley walking confidently to the door. At the time I noticed nothing out of the ordinary about that walk but now that I think back on it I spent far too long walking down that alley.

I tried the door hesitantly at first sure that the pub was long closed for the night or more likely closed for good, as the only way you could be expected to know about such a place was if someone told you, and this didn’t look to be the sort of place that you told your friends about. To my surprise the door swung open easily as if the hinges had been recently oiled and I entered forthwith.

Once inside I found that this establishment was rather oddly shaped, if I extended my hand but a hairs breath forward I could touch the closest table despite the fact that the room extended away a remarkable distance on my right and left. Twenty or thirty gentlemen and a collection of elegantly dressed ladies were sitting at the tables before me in twos and threes, or clustered about the bar which stretched the length of the far wall.

The floor consisted of black and white tiles which I couldn’t help thinking at the time made the room look rather like an oversized chess board. I smiled at the thought and strode confidently into the room closing the door soundly behind me.

A few of the gentlemen looked up at me with air of surprise before looking back at their companions, or turning again to their drinks. One of the gentlemen at the bar nodded to me and I smiled easily back at him. I made my way across the room slipping thought the crowd with some trouble, careful not to tread on any of the ladies extraordinary gowns or the gentlemen’s coats which they had hung over the back of their chairs.

“My good man,” I said addressing the barkeep “what do you have to drink?”

The bar tender, who was an older man, reached down below the bar and pulled forth an unmarked bottle filled with a gentle golden liquor.

“Its a thousand dollars a glass” he spoke with an accent that I couldn’t quite place, it was as if he was from Australia, England, and Ireland all at the same time.

“Are you insane man? I wouldn’t pay a thousand dollars for a glass of God’s own urine!”

“I think you’ll find that this tastes a might bit better than that.” He said.

“I expect that it should at that price.”

“I’ll tell yah what,” The bartender said pouring the liquor into an elegant glass “since this is your first time here I’ll give you one for free. How’s that sound?”

I looked at that glass and frowned.

“What’s the catch?”

“well.” The bartender paused. “There are two.”

I waited expectantly as the bartender seemed to consider his words.

“It’s very strong stuff, and once you try it you’ll want another glass.”

I laughed, and at the time it seemed appropriate, I had never been told I’d enjoy doing something as a warning before and I saw no reason to take this as such. I reached forward and took the glass easily.

I smelled it first letting the odor waft upwards into my nostrils. It was sweet, almost sickly so, like a bowl of fruit that had been left too long in the sun, but there was another smell like that of flowers and spring days. The two odors seemed to dance together, twirling upward in an unimaginable bouquet of ecstasy.

The taste of that golden liquor is indescribable. The closest I can imagine is the taste of my first kiss, and the first bite of an apple after a long spring, or the first drop of water after a drought. Iit was as if life itself had been brewed down into every single drop of that drink. When I had finished I sat perfectly still and slowly began to weep.

The bartender looked at me, and smiled, the slow smile of a drug dealer who knows your hooked and hooked bad.

“This is strong stuff,” I said.

“I warned you.”

I turned and looked at the room, looking out at all the people who had come here and they looked wrong. I remember noticing things one moment and being horrified and repulsed or entranced and aroused but in the next I was unable to say exactly what it was that had elected such a reaction from me.

“I have to leave.” I said stumbling from my barstool.

“We’ll see you soon” the bartender shouted after me but his voice was strange. Higher or lower or both I’m not sure.

I maneuvered my way through the crowd bumping into people with hurried excuses and rushed apologies. I caught my coat on what appeared to be antlers growing from one of the ladies hair, managing to tear a sizable hole in the sleeve before finally reaching the safety of fresh air. I looked back as the door closed and saw the woman staring at me with a look that I shall never forget.

I have no recollection of how I made it home that night but some how I managed. I have slept soundly since my adventure that night at the court but I can still sometimes taste that golden liquor on my tongue and I know that one day soon I’ll return to that bar in the workman’s district. I know that when that night comes I’ll have no trouble finding it again and when I sit down at that bar I know full well that I’ll have a thousand dollars in my pocket and that when I leave I’ll have tasted that golden drink agai

Reviews

[Glassboxes]

Wow! This is really nicely written. The story itself kind of hooks you in with it's mystery and imagry. My favorite line, and the one that "hooked" me, was, "It was neither the kind of fog that rolls in like waves and settles over the land nor the thin wispy fog that swirls around your feet like lost souls."

The bit about God's urine made me chuckle.

[I'llPlayTheJuliet]

I really liked this, it is writtin very well, and the way you ended it was enjoyable.