Facing tempests of dust
I'll fight until the end
Creatures of my dreams: Raise up and dance with me!
Now and forever
I'm your king!
Is it possible to fall in love with somebody who never existed? In the day and age of user inter-face relationships, e-relationships, and countless stupid e-flings, is it such a question to ask if something that is purely creation can form so strongly that you fall in love. I don’t ask such a question based on a relationship on the internet. For all intents and purposes, dear reader, let us pretend that the existence and ability to have such electronic network based flings is not possible.
An idea though, can one fall in love with them. Here, damn-it. I’m being modest. I have fallen for a woman who was created out of code. She never existed except in the form of words on a page; bright blue eyes, chestnut brown hair, and the innocence of a child. Who was she? I did not know- but I had never felt such a strong connection to such a being. Am I crazy, reader? Have a cracked the proverbial membrane and slipped away into the deep, dark abode of insanity? Allow me to partake in the tale that will probably make you see things from my point of view.
Ideas grow fresh from the mind, do they not? We see perhaps two things. We can see any object we wish; we connect that object with another, and boom, you have evolved an idea. Let’s say I look at a lamp; simplistic, round, dim, the power’s breaking down out in the generator. Lamp and generator, eh? Why’s the power failing? How cliché! It’s a stormy night as I write this; the strong wind whistles, causing the house to lightly tremble with muffled blares. Alas, I digress again. f*ck.
Following a rather dreary day at college; I proceeded home. The train journey was as it always was; lonely, quiet, and somehow reflective. Whenever the London Midland trains trundled along the tracks with their rickety flow, it was a time of quiet. I always seemed to notice how quiet it was on trains, was there ever a rule that permitted sound regulations? Probably not, or, maybe it was the shape of the trains that lowered the amplification of voices. I stared out at the approaching clouds that seemed to creepy slowly over my head. In my hand; a worn notebook that I always carried for notes, storylines, doodles, sketches, and other sh*t.
As I was caught deep in my mind; the image of a pair of big blue eyes hit me. I randomly drew them to the best of my ability. They were simple; big, beautiful, but no face to match them...yet. Why did this happen? Why did a woman come to mind? As the drunk down my local pub would say, “I sh*t my pants again...”
Humorous, perhaps, but it fit well. It was a random occurrence that left more mystery than it did information. I left the train at my regular stop and never thought about the eyes again. I continued my life. Dreams began to take form that soon after, and for many nights after. I had suffered crippling lucid night terrors for years based on my PTSD and past-issues, but lately, and uncompromisingly, I found peace in the dreams ahead that I am to explain to you, faithful reader.
I had slipped into my dream quite easily. As I looked around, it was apparent I’d landed in a garden somewhere. It was massive, with a huge pond in the middle; diversity thy name is nature. Hundreds of animals moved all around; dears, dogs, foxes, birds, and even bugs, all moving in harmony to an unknown symphony that played away in my mind to a subconscious concert with a quartet band.
My feet slowly padded through the soft grass, not killing anything I stepped on, such is the logic of dreams. A hint of blue shot out of the corner of my right peripheral vision. “Hello?” Was that a gasp or one of the animals? “HELLO!” I yelled louder. Padded feet were easily audible. I followed the sound, up ahead I noticed a girl shoot into some sort of maze. I followed her in, slipping into a less wildlife-full garden. By a tree was the girl, her eyes wide; panic-stricken. Heavy breaths escaped her lungs.
“Hey!” I stumbled after her as I got to my feet.
“No, no!” she screamed, nuzzling into the large tree.
“Hey, you alright?” I asked as I observed her. From behind, a blue skirt covered her lower portion; a bright clean blouse up top. Chestnut hair tied in a ponytail and nothing else was visible.
“No, no, oh god,” she whispered into the tree. “Please don’t hurt me,” she said to herself. I put a hand on her lightly; all fear seemed to drain from her as she turned with her eyes wide with perhaps a hint of curiosity.
“You’re not going to hurt me?” she asked as she raised a hand that touched my face in the most intrusive way. She gripped my cheeks and examined me. Up close, I could smell her warm, minty breath. Her bright blue, crystal eyes stared into mine for a moment and that was when a slab of something hard slid down my throat. Her beautiful lips formed words that didn’t hit my eyes; her soft hands violently squished my face, turning it to her liking as she scanned over me. “You’re not dark,” she said with disbelief, her raspy-posh like voice not helping the hint of attraction I felt. Sex dream? A f*cking sex dream.
Her hand rested on my cheek gently and then I was yanked away from the dream quite fiercely as I slipped out of the confines of the couch onto the wooden floor that greeted me with a nice headbutt. Clonk! “Jesus!”
“You alright?” yelled my mother from the kitchen, her mind and eyes glued to her phone as she texted her new partner (she’d been going through a heavy divorce and had ironically found a new man to fit that empty gap).
When you awake from dreams, statistically, 90% of the dream is forgotten within thirty minutes. I did not forget her face, the garden, the strong smell of pure, crisp, air, or the way her touch felt. Have you ever felt that, constant reader? That some dreams you wake up from just shake you to your very core? I felt a twinge of butterflies down in my stomach, a feeling only associated with real girls on two occasions in my sad, pathetic life. Both of those times the butterflies were welcomed, then squished, mashed into a paste, and force-fed to me until the queasiness returned in other ways.
The girl was beautiful, but innocent. I felt like she’d never been corrupted. Here I go sounding like a weirdo again. The girl seemed like she’d never been hurt, or that she’d never seen such wonders of other people, as if she’d been isolated in my mind. Maybe it was why she was so taken back by me. Wait, what was I doing? This was just a stupid dream, I had to stop looking into such things.
I slowly got up, entered the kitchen and poured myself some coffee. The clock struck 1am. I thought it was 5am like a fool and so I quit the coffee, grabbed some coco, and hit the sofa again. I was back into my dream within minutes; the garden, the smell, the large tree, but the girl had gone, she was off somewhere else most likely. Strange. I always figured dreams were linear or at least made some sort of sense. Why would she leave? Who was she? Why the f*ck was I obsessing over a dream? Christ, I felt like those sweaty f*cks that played World of Warcraft then jerked off to the semi-naked pixel ‘hotties’. I never got that far.
Edited by Ziggy455, 30 May 2013 - 01:30 PM.