Fiction, but different

Does anyone know why my throat hurts? It’s really annoying and it keeps happening.

I’ve written something in a fashion unlike how I normally write, and I’m not sure if it’s any good. Is it bearable writing in this fashion? If you’d like let me know 🙂

When we Dream

The wind around him danced with joy as if celebrating his inevitable return. John sat in the tiny dingy, motionless and thoughtless. He simply sat and allowed his body to be tossed in every direction and made no effort to defend his shivering body as it was assaulted by the icy fingers of the water grabbing at him from beyond the sides of the boat.

John displayed no emotion, made no movement. His face hung from his head, dragged down by creases to deep for his young age, his expression only read malcontent.
John continued to sit a little while longer, allowed himself to be abused by the elements and welcomed the sick feeling at the base of his stomach as the boat lurched and leapt about the waves. Then he looked up.

As if on cue a wave abnormally large and fast began to charge in Johns direction, like a charging bull it ran at John with untamable ferocity and speed.
He welcomed it as it grew in size much larger than the boat and closed his eyes as it fell like a building onto his boat splitting it into matches.

John felt his limp body rip through the bottom of the boat, tearing threw the wood as it broke apart like a child’s lego creation being sat on by a large clumsy adult.
He tore threw the water falling deeper and deeper through the water, he didn’t bother holding his breathe, so he could already feel his lungs beginning to burn.

Suddenly John caught a glimpse of something he hadn’t ever seen before, a deep chasm on the ocean floor. Like a giant hole punched through a floor it sat gaping far below him, and just as his eyes began to cloud over he thought he saw something very peculiar, a large, very flat shimmer just above the hole, like the reflection given off a sheet of thin plastic covering a bowl of coleslaw sitting on the bottom of a pool on a sunny day.

John woke up. As usual his eyes burst open rudely and his breathing erupted into deep intaking and exhaling, gulping it down greedily as if it at any second it will run away unless he consumes it.
Once he realized another nights sleep was over, his panicked face fell once again into its usual bored and tired expression. His face didn’t move much in those days, there was no need and no-one to please. John lived alone, he was only in his late twenties but had become bored with life and unhappy with his lot in it.

Once he was truly certain his share of sleep was spent, he rolled out of bed and edged toward the shower. John could not have been less happy and more bored, a situation about as exciting as a sardine and cheese sandwich after it had been sitting in the sun all day while you had been trying to fish a bowl of coleslaw out of the pool without getting all wet. After John had repeated his well worn out routine of getting ready, showering, air- drying, vacuuming, exfoliating, meditating and excessing, he made his way to work.

Most people work a dull and boring job, the chain of events, usually including laziness at school, not entering university, clubbing and drinking, and other such life decisions that can be fun, but unhelpful, end at a job that people work at for forty years and then retire. In terms of enjoyment these jobs are walks in the park, or in terms of fulfillment are reaching into the pool and collecting the bowl of coleslaw compared to the job that John was forced to endure six days a week. John worked as a toll booth operator, a position that required sitting in a very hot box and doing nothing but collecting money off people as they drove past, probably on their way to a job that including walks in parks or collecting food from pools. Most days all John could do was rest his head on his hand and sigh, then lift his head off his hand and collect money, then repeat the process. This extremely dull and unfulfilling process was only interrupted by a note that was secured to the door of his box. John stepped up the small step placed there to enter his box, or to trip over he never knew which, and leaned forward to read the note.

“Dear Mr Smith, I’m afraid I have to inform you that your employment has been terminated, effective immediately. The reason for this is that a brilliant engineer has invented an automated machine to take your place. We are sorry to let you go as you have been a valued member of the team, however as the team no longer exists you are no longer valuable or required. We hope you continue to use these roads as a valued customer instead, please clean out your box immediately. You have not been paid for coming today. Sincerely Mr. F Nelson, Government Roads Inc.”

By the time John had finished reading the note his mouth hung so far open it almost embraced his neck, but before long he composed himself, turned around, stepped off the entering step and made his way home, his mood gloomier than ever and his future all the more bleak.

John drove home with a lump of despair in his stomach so painful, it made the working life he had just seen ended seem as good as a daily trip to a theme park might be. Similar to

how waking up on a Monday morning makes you realize how blissful waking up on the previous Saturday morning really was, unless of course that particular Saturday morning someone very close to you was taken by someone you thought was dead. That particular incidence may make you realize how blissful the previous Monday morning really was by comparison, and how you really should have kept that time machine in better condition, and the cycle goes on.

John arrived home with approximately 13 hours to burn until he would collapse into his bed and drift off into the world of sleep. I could describe the events of those thirteen hours in detail, but I don’t think words could give the lifelessness of his day as much justice as four photographs hanging on the wall could. And as he carried out his day with as much energy and expression as a depressed garden gnome, it would be no injustice to use such a gnome as the actor playing John in the photos.

The first photo would depict gnome-John sitting on a couch, the second standing in a garden holding a hose, the third standing in the kitchen holding a saucepan, and the fourth standing in the shower holding a bottle of grapefruit scented shampoo. If you can picture these pictures in your head in detail, then you have accurately seen his entire day.

Then once his head did hit the pillow, as it had done so many nights prior. He stared at his favorite Emily M Cloran quote which hung upon the wall, and clung to a small piece of hope. “Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher
s the poet’s equal there.” John was not inspired to live, but he was inspired to sleep, and through sleep he would find his escape. His eyes closed and he entered the world of sleep.

John sat in the boat, his expression unchanged by the many experiences he had forced to endure in this very boat, experience had simply taught him to wait it out and it would all be over soon. The wind lashed against his face, and the freezing water stabbed into his skin, his eyelashes clung to his eyelids for safety and his teeth began to chatter their plea for warmth. The dream felt more and more real every time he experienced it, all his nerves ached with pain from the bitter cold, and he almost smiled in pride at his own imagination. On cue the wave began to roll into view, he remembered the first time he saw it and how much he had panicked, but now he simply sighed and tried to imagine some warmth into the dream.

On cue the wave hit, on cue he was forced into the water. He sunk, pushed down by the force of the wave, his arms and legs flailed in all directions and he simply allowed himself to sink further and further, and waited for himself to “die” and wake up.

Then he saw it, the reflective light shone above the chasm, just like a plastic food-bowl covering. “Damned if I’m gonna have a part of my own dream I don’t know about” he thought to himself, and he began to force his body to swim towards the shine. He knew it had to be something, even dreams follow some rules. So with nothing to lose he forced his body lower and lower, thinking heavy thoughts and trying not to pass out. Soon his eyes began to get blurry and his head began to ache, but just above the glow he reached his arm out and grabbed.

He felt it, a thin film stretched across the chasm, he reached further and grabbed a handful and with his last sliver of strength pulled and ripped a hole in the film. Suddenly a great rush of suction grabbed his body and ripped him into the hole, the dream had changed and he screamed into the water with surprise. Like a star into a black hole, John was sucked into the underwater tunnel and down a deep underwater chasm and lost to the surface world forever.

John had at last found his escape.

 

Well thats it. Let me know whether or not you liked the differences.
I’ll see you again soon! Subscribe and be you’ll there when I arrive in Columbia in a couple days 🙂

Stick around 😉

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