The Dream

"My name is John O'Connor and I have been dreaming."


I think it was right after the accidents that the dreams started occurring. It was always the same dream and I always woke up at the same time. I always woke up in tears.

In my dream there was a man and while I can make out every feature of his face and figure while dreaming, I always wake with just the memory of a shadowy figure with a white coat. The dream is a choppy composition of scenes that randomly jump and skip (like most dreams, it seems). At one point I'm lying in a hospital bed completely alone, unconscious. Then there is the shadowy figure and we're sitting together in a cafeteria or some place like one. Then it's back to my hospital room and there is a bed next to mine but I can't tell who is in it. But it hurts to know that it's there. I feel guilt. Then the shadowy figure is speaking to me and all I can remember upon waking is that he's speaking of mirrors. Strange, considering I can't look myself in a mirror, because I know the man in the mirror is responsible for my pain. I can't stand to see the pain, loss, and guilt that I know that man is going through to.

I woke up crying that morning. That was usual. It had been three months since the accident and I had had the dream every night that I can remember. My dreams felt more real to me than this world. I was living in a haze, refusing to accept the world as I had made it, knowing that the world was irreparably a much less beautiful place than it used to be. I use to find so much joy in the simple things...sunsets, flowers, stars, trees, even grass. But that was a long time ago when we held hands and walked through empty fields. My mind naturally started drifting to her and I shut my brain down.

My world had no more color. Literally and figuratively.

I thought it appropriate that the accident left me partially blind, unable to see most colors, living in a haze. That's exactly how I felt on the inside. My world was gray and hazy not because I lost sight...but because I lost so much more. I shut my brain down and concentrated on my ceiling. I used to know every crack and discoloration, but now it was hard for me to make out such details. My world went by in a haze, foggy with no life. It was like I was dead but I wouldn't accept it. In the end, maybe this was more true than I realized.

My life, if you could call it that, went on after the accident. I was a writer of science fiction novels, the popular author of a series dealing with quantum physics and time travel. I didn't have to leave my house to do that...However, my stories lost passion...I didn't have anything in me to write. I tried to write again but nothing came out right. I couldn't put words together, the sentences came out jumbled. Even reading the stories I wrote before the accident, I found my work to be dull and nonsensical. My life was meaningless.

What an utterly depressing statement to make, and yet...yet it was the truth. I had never been a suicidal person. I had never had to deal with feeling less than too important to kill myself. I loved myself to much. Perhaps that was what had lead to the accident. No, not perhaps. I KNEW that was what lead to it...but anytime I stopped to think of it, I would shut my brain down, zone out, and an hour, two, several hours would pass by and I would finally realize that I was doing nothing.

So, yes, thoughts of suicide crept in. I had nothing left to live for, and I certainly didn't battle with this pride, with this love of self...I hated myself. I hated myself and as one naturally does with something that they hate...I tried to remove myself. I saw it as justice, retribution for taking from the world something beautiful and leaving it with a harsh stain of human existence like myself.

The first time I tried to kill myself I went about it perhaps too half heartedly. I had rope lying around and so it was easiest for me to contemplate a hanging.

My house had a balcony that overlooked the main foyer and was the first thing you saw as you walked in the front door. With no emotion whatsoever I went about devising a noose and anchoring the rope well to the balcony, and placed it about my neck. With no fanfare, without a note to the rest of the world (I didn't want pity like so many others. I wanted to leave), and with much selfishness, I admit, I flung myself to the first floor. The last thing I heard before the world went from gray to black was a satisfying snap. However...

I heard voices, frantic, in my head. Something about holding on, not giving up, staying alive. They sounded so real...so close.

I woke up lying on the floor of the foyer. My neck had not snapped. I had not choked. The rope gave away and snapped as I fell, apparently. I had neither bruise on my neck nor burn from the rope. I sat there and zoned out. I didn't care that I lived and I wouldn't have cared had I not. I was so caught up in myself, albeit in a far different way than before, that I decided to go to bed and try something new tomorrow.

I dreamed again as I knew I would. I woke up in tears as I knew I would. I lay in bed not moving...as I knew I would. I was so apathetic that I didn't want to get up from my bed even to terminate myself. That's how I had come to think of it, as a termination. I was an unproductive employee in the business of life, and I needed to be fired, needed to have my contract...terminated.

This time I would put a little more effort into it, not because I wanted myself ESPECIALLY dead but because I was even getting tired of trying to kill myself and hoped I wouldn't have to keep it up. It was quite exhausting.

This time I decided to fill the tub with ice water, numb up my arms a little bit, and bleed out. So I did that. I dumped a few buckets of ice into the tub as the water ran and pulled a razor out of the medicine cabinet. I wasn't sure where the razor came from. It was an old fashioned straight razor and I knew it to be sharp. I was almost grateful to be seeing in gray at this point because I could never stomach the sight of blood.

I plunged an arm into the freezing cold water and let it sit for a moment...two moments. Then I plunged the other one in gripping the razor. I took a breath, expelled it, set the razor to my wrist...and pulled it to the crook of my elbow. I hadn't foreseen the inevitable problem of being unable to grasp the razor with the cut arm to cut the other, but that didn't seem to be too important as already I was blacking out. However...

I heard the voices again. I found comfort in those voices because they seemed more real than the gray life I was living...well, not living so much as trying to leave. Again I heard voices telling me not to give up, to hold on. I heard a voice echoing the word 'mirror'...And then I heard a new voice, wholly distinct from the others. I do not know what the voice said, but somehow I knew what it meant. I felt such guilt when I heard this voice, not only for the accident...but for the extreme selfishness that I had been clinging to for the past three months. And even before that...Somehow I knew that I SHOULD die, but that that sentence didn't belong to me to carry out.

I woke on the floor. The razor was gone and I didn't have any discernible marks on my arm.

It puzzled me somewhat, but I didn't think too long on it. That day was the first day since I had come home from the hospital that I decided to leave my home and venture outside. I didn't know where I was going, I just wanted to go. So I started walking.

I wasn't sure where I was going to go but I decided that I was hungry and that I should eat so I walked down the street to a nearby cafe. I just started eating when he walked into the cafe. A startling recognition hit me full force and I drop my fork to the plate. This was the man from my dreams! I knew it to be true, that this was the man I had been haunted by for all these months.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything as he took his seat across from me. He merely looked at me and said, "John O'Connor."

I nodded wordlessly.

"John O'Connor, you are dead and don't even know it."

I had no idea what this man was talking about. I knew that I should know who he was. He looked so familiar!

"What do you mean?", I asked. Did he know about my suicide attempts?

"What I mean is, the nature of Time is such that what is going to happened has happened, and what has happened is yet to come."

Well that did absolutely nothing to clarify for me what he was trying to say. He could see the obvious confusion on my face.

"You see", he explained, "Some people believe that time is a circle and that it is infinite. That is why history repeats itself, more figuratively than literally. Yet again, some people believe that time is linear and that there is a beginning and that it just goes and goes and goes and that even when everything dies time will keep moving forward."

"But in reality," he placed a finger on the table, "Time moves in a spiraling motion." He drew his finger in a circling motion slowly coming to a point. "It has a beginning and it has an end."

I furrowed my brow at him. "Who are you?"

He extended a hand, "Thaddeus Thistle. Dr. Thaddeus Thistle."

I almost laughed at him, but I couldn't. Dr. Thaddeus Thistle was the main character of my most popular series of books. He was the professor of quantum mechanics and all that hoopla responsible for time travel. They were fluff novels. Only die hard fans or science geeks read my books.


But...This man DID look like I envisioned Dr. Thistle. THAT'S why he looked so familiar because I KNEW him, but only subconsciously, only in my head.

"That's not your name." I stated matter-of-factly.

"I beg your pardon?", he said, staring at me through horn rimmed glasses.

"Dr. Thaddeus Thistle is a character from a book. You're not him." I said smirking.

"Look, sir, I'll show you my identification." he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

I already had it in my head that he forged ID's but when he showed it to me I started to doubt even myself. It certainly looked real enough. It showed the same man, slightly younger, staring into the camera. The ID proclaimed him the professor of quantum physics at a nearby university.

"Bullcrap!", I said. I stood up to leave. The man claiming to be Thistle stood to intercept me and said something that stopped me in my tracks.

"You can still save her."

I blinked several times rapidly. I started to hyperventilate. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. I sat back down and said, "What did you say?"

"You can still save her." He repeated.

I closed my eyes and a storm of memories assaulted me. I nearly started weeping at the sudden deluge of pain that came with the memories but I simply kept my eyes shut as tightly as possible.


Thistle watched me silently.

"Tell me about her." he said.


I didn't want to. God knows I didn't want to remember, let alone speak about it!...about her...But I did. I found myself telling the entire story...

"Her name was Lily and I loved her. I always loved her. But I could never tell her. We went to school together, to college together. And even when we were apart, we never lost contact. She occasionally dated around but only recently got serious with anyone. They dated for six months and he proposed. She accepted. I never saw anyone. My heart was for her and her alone, but even when I heard that her relationship was getting serious I couldn't tell her for fear, the fear! I tried to be happy for her, tried to support her. I was such a coward...The night of the accident was the night she told me that they were getting married and that she loved him. The way she looked at me...almost pitying, like she knew how I felt about her. Maybe she did...I wanted to tell her that night, right then that I loved her, that marrying this man was a mistake, that I could make her so happy. But I couldn't say it, any of it. I couldn't say any of it...We were on our way to dinner, a habit that we got into at the beginning of college. We would talk about classes, teachers, projects, dreams...I would talk about my stories, the books I longed to write. We ate together once a week almost without fail. It occurred to me that we would have to stop. What man would be content knowing his wife had dinner with another man every week...I had been in denial, I realized that then. I somehow assumed that no matter how long she dated that we would simply end up together. I don't know if I was arrogant or naive. I was stupid either way. She was so beautiful that night...everytime time she looked at me, I would stop breathing...So beautiful..."

I stopped talking for a minute. I knew that I was rambling, that I was all over the place, but...I hadn't talked about this with anyone, ever. I hadn't even let myself THINK about it and now it was all coming out in one, stumbling, tear ridden sob...I took a breath.

"After she told me that she was getting married, that she loved him, a thousand thoughts fought to find room in my mind. It all hit me at once, you know? The fact that I would be alone, that we would never eat dinner like this again, that...she would give herself to another man, love another man intimately...and for the rest of her life. I was dazed and I zoned out. The last thing I remember...A car coming head on---Lily yelling my name---the screeching of tires as this car swerved to avoid hitting me head on..."

I was openly weeping by now, my words coming in jumbles with interjections of sobbing.

"He swerved to miss me, and hit the passenger side...dead on. Lily was killed nearly instantly but I was only hospitalized for less than a week. The driver of the other car was drunk and unhurt."

I wiped the tears from my face.

"If I hadn't zoned out...if I hadn't been so wrapped up in myself...I would have seen the drunk driver! I could have saved her life! She would still be here if it wasn't for me! If I had only told her I loved her...if she only knew. But there are no second chances and my world has no color."

I put my head in my hands. "It's been three and a half months since Lily...died." I choked on that word. "Her fiancee has already met someone else." I added bitterly.

I fell silent, unable to say anything else. Dr. Thistle had been silent up to this point, only listening, now and again nodding. Finally he spoke up and said, "There ARE second chances, John. What if I told you that there was a way to go back, to save her?"

"Look," I said, suddenly getting angry, "I don't even know who you are, or what you want. You are not who you say you are because I WROTE you, wrote about you. You. Don't. Exist! Who are you?! Huh?!"

Thistle cleared his throat, "I'm a doctor, an inventor, and a messenger. You may call the university if you doubt my credentials."

So I did. I sat there across from him and looked into his eyes as I called them. He looked honest, kind, but still...He couldn't be who he said he was. A soft, pleasant voice came on the line, "River Ridge University, Front desk. How may I help you today, sir or maam?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am. Do you employ a Professor Thaddeus Thistle at your university?"

"Hold on one minute, sir, and I will get you that info, 'kay?"

"Sure." I said. Thistle sat quietly and patiently as I sat there tapping my finger, waiting to hear confirmation that no Thistle had ever worked there.

"Ok, here he is. Science department, um, quantum physics, whatever that is." She laughed.

My breath caught. I managed to stammer, "Uh, how long has he been there?"

"About three years, sir. Does that help you? Sir?"

I wordlessly hung up the phone. "I don't understand..." I started.

"Maybe you read in the paper that River Ridge was getting a new professor and simply liked the name." Thistle said. He smiled.

"Fine. Whatever...What do you want?" I went along with it. After all, that must have been what happened, right? I just didn't remember it.

"Do you remember what I said about Time?"

I nodded.

"Well," Thistle said, "there are many different theories on Time and parallel universes and dimensions and all that rot, but the prevailing one is that time is a spiral, not unlike a fingerprint. Each one is unique. Each branches in a miniscule way slightly to one side at some point to account for a seperate decision that we made in the 'path' of life."

I nodded. I hadn't heard this one exactly, but I had done enough reading and writing to know that it sounded not unfamiliar.

"Well, if there are an infinite number of choices that we could make then, theoretically, there could be an infinite number of alternate universes, or, in the very least, a very VAST number of others. Well, if there are so MANY then it stands to reason that in SOME of them, we make the exact same decisions there that we have HERE. In essence, there MAY be alternate universes that have the same "fingerprint" if you will. Do you still follow?"

"I think so." But I was unsure. I had the gist of what he was saying though. Then he lost me with what he said next.

"It is commonly believed that Mirrors are merely a reflection of us, that they show us truthfully, unbiased as we actually are: a product of life and of our decisions. BUT I submit that mirrors are ACTUALLY windows into these alternate universes that have the same "fingerprint", that it shows another us that has merely made the SAME decisions. And, yes, in that way it IS a reflection, but have you ever wondered what would happen if the man in the mirror moved when you did not?" He smiled. "That's besides the point. If mirrors ARE merely windows that open into the same point in this ALTERNATE world, then what if we could open a point somewhere else. What if, instead of walking AROUND the spiral of time, we walked towards the center onto the next SWIRL of time? Or, what if we walked backwards?"


I understood, kind of.

"If these alternate universes with the same 'fingerprint' lay on top of us, (I say on top to give you an idea. Really, there is no 'on top' or 'beside' us outside of space. We use this idea to make sense of it.) then perhaps these windows can be manipulated towards the inner circles of our own spiral, or, to go further back in time, away from the center? THAT'S what my colleagues and I have been working on."

It was all alot to take in. I still wasn't sure I could believe this man. He WAS who he said he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't crazy. Still, there was something in me that wanted to believe him.

"I'm still confused as to why you're telling me all of this, Dr. Thistle." I said.

"We have this device. We have the MEANS to bend the windows of time and step backwards or forwards...but..."

"But you don't have anyone who is willing to test it out?" I guessed, "You don't have anyone to take in with the idea of reliving the past and having a second chance."

He nodded, silently.

"You have nothing to lose, John, and everything to gain. We've been watching you and we know that there is nothing in this world for you, that the only thing you long for is a second chance, for Lily." he said.

He was right. I HAD already tried to kill myself, hadn't I? What could this take from me that I hadn't already tried to take? If the man was full of it then what did I lose? At this point disappointment was a laughing matter. So I decided to humor him, to see if he WAS full of crap.

"Ok," I nodded, "I'm in."

"Good," he said, "be at this address at nine tonight." He slipped me a paper with the address. Warehouse district, of course. A perfect place to be tortured and murdered. But I was fine with that too, wasn't I?

Dr. Thistle rose from his sit, shook my hand, and walked away without another word, leaving me sitting there, wondering if I should even start to hope. No, I wouldn't hope until I had seen this 'device' or whatever it was.

I showed up at the warehouse with five minutes to spare. What was the worst that could happen? It would turn out to be some practical joke and I would be left with nothing except an idea for a new fluff novel? I didn't really care. At this point, just getting out of the house was an adventure that made life ALMOST bearable.

It was dark when I drove up and the warehouse didn't exactly look inviting. There were no lights on inside or out but I could see well enough to park my car and find the door. The atmosphere that greeted me inside was similar to the world outside, dark and uninviting, but I could see a faint light at the end of the warehouse. It was a huge cavernous room that was empty except for the far end. Something was set up that I couldn't really make out, partly because it was dark, mostly because I was partially blind. I could hear voices though so I knew that I was not alone.

"Dr. Thistle," I called out.

"John, my boy, down here." the voice called from the far end. I could see faint movement.

I walked down to the far end and was greeted with the sight of a mirror connected to some kind of machine that had buttons and tubes and hoses and switches. The usual. I almost laughed. Thistle was standing beside it and grinning like a school boy. Beside him was a man I hadn't met yet but looked familiar. I didn't want to know. He probably had the same name as someone I wrote about.

"So this is it?", I said, rather dumbly. "Well, let's get this over with."

"Ah, a man of action," Thistle said, "I like that!" He moved over to a computer that was set up beside the mirror. He pushed some buttons, moved to the machine and flipped some switches, twiddled some knobs. The usual. I chuckled under my breath. This was something RIGHT out of a science fiction novel.

But then something happened and I stopped smiling.

Lights came on around the mirror and as I was looking at myself in it, the picture changed. Just like that. The mirror's glass became almost liquid and the reflection it showed was not a reflection at all. Now I was looking at an empty warehouse. Then it changed again and I saw Thistle setting up the computer IN the mirror. But he was not moving OUTSIDE of the mirror. He was still standing at the computer, pecking away at the keys. Then the mirror changed again and I saw myself with Lily.

I stopped breathing.

It was the night of the accident and I was walking Lily to the car. She was smiling nervously and I could see myself gawking at her.

My lips started quivering. I was about to start crying just seeing her. Either this was a sick joke, or...or this was EXACTLY what Thistle said it was.

Finally, Thistle stepped away from the computer and turned to me.

"Ok, John. Whenever you're ready just step into the mirror."

I looked at him, unsure. I looked at the mirror. I took a deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? Then I stepped into blackness.

"John? JOHN?" A familiar voice. I loved that voice.

I was in the car and we were going to dinner. Wait! I was in the car?! I looked at the passenger. Lily. My heart stopped. "Lily," I managed to stammer.

"What? What is it John?" she asked.

"I...I don't know. Where are we?", I was disoriented. Gradually, I remembered. The wreck!

"I was trying to tell you that I had news and you just zoned out on me, tard." she laughed.

"What news?" I asked. When did it happen? How long after she told me did we get into the accident? I racked my brain.

"He proposed, John!"

"Lily, there's something I have to tell you." I said, scanning the road ahead, looking left and right. "It's important."

"What is it, John? Did you hear what I said?" She asked. I looked at her. I still saw in gray, but I could still see that she was so beautiful. Oh, but she was beautiful!

"Yes, I heard you. You can't marry him, Lily, because I love you, Lily. I always loved you and I should have told you long ago but I didn't and now it's almost too late, but I love you!" The words came tumbling out, words I had always wanted to say but in my
cowardice I could not.

I looked back at the road. Lily was silent at first. Then she sighed and said, "I know, John."

"What?!" the word nearly exploded from my mouth. "What do you mean, 'you know'?!"

She grew quiet. I risked a second to look over at her. She couldn't look at me.

"I wanted you, John. I wanted you for so long, but...but you never said anything. You wouldn't make a move, John! I couldn't stand that! It was obvious how you felt, but you wouldn't do anything, not even when I started dating other men. You...I couldn't wait for something that wasn't going to happen. He makes me happy, John, and I said yes."

So that was it, huh? I was going to lose her a second time. But I told her!

"No, not this time," I murmured.

"What?" Lily asked, "What did you say, John?"

And that's when I saw him. It was a black SUV that was swerving a hundred feet ahead. Then it was in my lane.

"Not this time!" I shouted and spun the wheel.

Time slowed down. The driver of the SUV, in his drunken state, tried to swerve. My tires squeeled. His tires squeeled. And he hit my side...dead on. Like it should have been.

That was the last thing I heard, the squeel of tires, and the scream of a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman. Then it all went black...

I head familiar voices. A steady beeping noise. Then a feminine voice, "Doctor, I think he's waking up!"

I opened my eyes and saw color. That was the first thing I noticed. Then I noticed a heart monitor, tubes coming out of my mouth, tubes coming out of my body. The ugly bluish-green of the hospital was beautiful to someone who couldn't remember the last time he saw color.

The hospital room was suddenly alive with life as nurses and doctors crowded in and moved about with professional excitement. Tubes were removed, machines taken away, and the silent jubilee of one who has returned from the dead filled the room.

What had happened? I tried to ask but my words were a muffle. Painkilling drugs inhibited my thoughts and the only thing I could manage to say was Lily's name over and over.

Finally, the bustle subsided and a doctor walked in.

"John? Are you with us?" he asked.

I managed to nod.

"Good!" He smiled. "I'll be back in a few minutes with some water and then maybe you'll be able to talk."

He came back into the room with a bottle of water and some apple sauce.

"This was the best I could get you for a snack." He said, apologetically. "Hospital food." He shuddered then laughed.

"We thought you might not wake up, John, but here you are!" He laughed again. "Three months sleeping and you finally decided to rejoin us."

What?

"Three months?" I croaked.

"Yes," the doctor said, "You've been in a coma for three months. Twice your heart stopped beating altogether and we had to bring you back. I was sure that you weren't going to come back. I don't know what happens in comas, but you must have had tremendous will power to make it after that."

My heart stopped twice? Shivers went down my spine. I had tried to kill myself twice.

"Where's Lily?" I demanded, suddenly.

"She's on her way, John. She's been in here every day with you. From what I understand, you saved her life. You swerved to take a drunk driver on your side and because of that Lily escaped with only minor cuts and bruises."

"John? John!" Oh, that voice! How I loved that voice! She ran to my side and leaned over and hugged me hard. I never wanted to leave that embrace!

"Lily!" I started crying right then. I didn't know what to say. She was alive!

"What happened?" I asked.

"I was telling you about my engagement. Don't you remember?" She asked. "Then a drunk got in our lane and you swerved." She started crying. Tears of joy, I supposed. We were alive!

"Did I say anything, Lily?"

"Well, you got really quiet, and then told me that you were happy for me, that you supported me."

I was confused. I didn't understand. Had I told her or not? I didn't know.

"Lily. I need to tell you something, something I should have told you a long time ago."

She looked at me.

"Lily, I love you. I love you more than life itself. You are all that best and bright in my world. Without you, my world would be a gray haze not worth living. You are color in a black and white world, laughter in a time of mourning, Lily, you are a rose in a world of weeds, a diamond in a world of rocks, and I. Love. You." I finished in tears, praying it was not too late.

Lily started crying. "I love you too, John. So much. I thought you would never tell me. I thought I would live life just getting by. My fiancee got angry at me for spending so much time here at the hospital with you. We fought a few weeks ago and he broke it off. That's when I knew, I couldn't settle for anything, or anyone else."

We hugged and I didn't let her go.

When I got out of the hospital I tried calling River Ridge University. They've never had a Dr. Thistle in their employment. The warehouse was still there and still very empty, and to this day...well, I don't know what happened in my dreams, but I do know one thing:

I found my second chance and I seized it. I held onto love and I never let it go.

The Futility Of Insanity II

I am still alone in this Kingdom of Beauty. Do you know what happened when I was turned down? When you so hastily refused to join me in this paradise? When you crushed my heart?

I was sitting in the shade of a magnificent elm, and watching the clouds, lost in my own world. My beautiful world. My insanity.

As I was staring at the clouds, something changed. The wind picked up, and there's never more than a gentle breeze in my Kingdom. The wind picked up but I could not feel it. I could only see the affect it had on my beautiful world.

The tree I was leaning on was uprooted and it knocked me to the ground. The wind carried it I know not where. The wind was howling and still I could not feel it on me.

The clouds turned dark and ominous. I screamed at the sky to stop! I commanded it the wind to die, but to no avail! The wind screamed back, and the clouds released a torrent of rain, rain so strong it plastered the grass to the ground and stung upon hitting me.

Then the temperature dropped. The rain turned to ice, and the grass was frozen solid. Every step I took the icy grass would tear gashes in my feet until I could no longer move.

I lay there for some time unconscious, unaware of the damage being done. The wind picked up, the ice fell, and the mountains withered away.

Then it was night.

I woke up shivering. The grass was no longer frozen, in fact, it wasn't really there any more. The wind broke the frozen grass stems so that they lay scattered in the field.

It was no longer raining, and the wind had died down. It was abominably dark. The stars themselves seemed dead and muffled. The moon was still full, but it was a reddish color and the face seemed to scream in agony.

I walked for hours, stumbling over uprooted trees, and slipping in the grass. I shivered all night for the temperature had dropped far below normal. I walked until I came to the edge of a precipice. Though it was dark I could see over the water, and I could hear its roar, a horrible sound.

The water was frothy, smacking up high against the cliff. As far as I could see, gigantic whirlpools were forming in the deep parts of the ocean. They would spin off into nothingness and then reform with a scream. I could hear the roar, and I wept.

I wept for my Kingdom of Beauty.

My beautiful world.

My insanity.

The Futility Of Insanity

It's a beautiful world.

No, not the one we live in. The one we live in is full of death, disease, despair, and depression. It's rank with heartache. No, the world we live in is not beautiful, but I will create a world for you, dear, a world that we can live in happily.

I can see it now. In fact, I am there now.

There is no life, no civilization, nothing.There is only rolling fields of the purest green, trees in full bloom. Towering mountains dominate the land. The sea is gentle, never swelling, never rough. The sun is covered by clouds of all hues, and of all colors. The sky is red, no, now it's orange and yellow, now it's purple. At night thousands of stars lend their light to a dark land. The moon is always full and it's face reminds me of you. There are thousands and hundreds of animals. All types, but all gentle.

But I am alone.

I am left alone in my world, to run and dance through the fields and meadows, to leap off the huge cliffs, and embrace the warmth of the ocean. I am alone to enjoy the coolness of the crisp night. I am alone to spin under the sun until I collapse. I am left alone to rule this veritable paradise, but I AM alone.

Will you join me?

Will you accompany me through the fields and meadows? Will you join me in my blessed Kingdom of Beauty? It's so simple. All it takes is love and a little bit of insanity. Take my hand, please. Come with me, follow me. My heart beckons you, do not break it. For if you break my heart, you destroy my world.

My beautiful world.

My Kingdom of Beauty.

My insanity.

The Art Of Unreality

My hand, grasping the pen loosely, traced figures lightly upon the notebook, a tribute to the nothingness in my mind. My hand ached with a purely mental ache, the ache to write something, to write some form of art; nothing normal though, anyone could write a poem or story. There is a capacity within each of us to do anything mediocre. But that was not my objective. My objective was to write something superior to the words of a poet, to write with an elegance and eloquence and fervor unknown to the sidewalk performer. My objective was to create words and worlds that drew her into it, something that grasped her with the reality of unreality.
I sighed. Was it within me to write beauty? I glanced at the notepad. There were a few hearts, some indefinable shapes that somehow seemed to contradict the laws of mathematics. But there were no words, nothing intelligible anyhow. I concentrated. I thought about her, how I felt for her, but still nothing came to mind. I longed to tell her of nothing, of everything. Why could I not do this? Ah, what was this? I had some spark of an idea and began jotting it down. I looked at it. I growled. It was some half-insensible, sentimental piece of garbage. I crumpled it up and threw it down.
I leaned back and let my mind wander. It wandered over unexplored planets, through the outer reaches of the galaxy, until it finally came to rest somewhere in the realm of impossibility. It landed in the world of Love, where everything goes right, and the ending is always happily ever after. That truly was the realm of impossibility. In my life I had never had the propensity for happily-ever-afters. They never worked for me, in my writing, or in my reality. The ending was always some butchered, horrifying truth.
How was love created, I wondered? What was love, and what was the purpose? I half imagined a figure dressed as an executioner. He was standing over his victim who looked about to die. A figure in the shadows sighed.
“Look. Tell us the truth of the matter or we will be forced to play our last card, our last act of torture for which you will want to die because the pain is so great.” (What it was the poor devil was to confess was beyond my writing capabilities, but whatever it was, it was obvious that he wouldn’t give it up.) He sat silently. His head bowed.
The interrogator in the shadows nodded to the executioner. The executioner left the room but returned momentarily carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. Cupid (for Cupid it was, though he looked nothing like the little baby. Instead, he was a menacing almost demonic looking man) threw back his hood and smirked. He drew an arrow from his quiver and deftly set it to the bow. He grinned maniacally and stared down the shaft of the heart-tipped arrow. He let it fly and it thunked into the poor devil’s head. The victim groaned. Cupid and the mysterious man of the shadows left. The poor devil was left alone with his fate which truly was horrible. He left the place and fell in love, and forever ever after was in constant pain for that love, that ultimate act of torture.
I grinned. It was too close to reality and people don’t read books to immerse themselves in reality. They want to be set down in a world that has a happy ending. They want to live a lie for some short period of time, because that period in their life of that lie is far less painful than the reality.
I sighed. Yes, a lie was far less painful than the reality. So why did I always feel the need to write about truth, about pain, and about love? Was I some sort of emotional masochist? Would I be able to live a full life if I wasn’t in pain? I had done something wrong somewhere. Life was not supposed to be like this. Or maybe I only thought that because of my miserable failures.
I groaned and sighed almost at the same time. I couldn’t do this. There was no way I could write of something wonderful when I didn’t even believe myself that there was anything in anyway redeeming about love.
I unconsciously ran my hands through my hair to make sure there were no arrows sticking out. That would have been so much simpler. Drawing an arrow out of my skull was easier than giving up love. Well, giving up love wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was getting over the one I loved. I wanted to. I had no reason to love. If only there were an arrow to pull out, how much simpler it would be.
I was in a paradox. I wanted to give up love and write of it at the same time. Ah! Life would be so much easier of there were one gender, and everyone reproduced asexually. Why must there be love? Why must there be some sort of universal torture on all man kind? To love love would be sadistic, for love is pain and to love pain is sadism. Something was dreadfully wrong. Had I screwed up in any way? Of course I did. I fell in love. And now, now I was desperately trying to climb out. It seemed, though, that I was swimming further in. There was no answer. One thing I knew; I could not write this love story. I could not write anything of anything that had to do with happily-ever-afters. I needed Someone else. I needed an Author Who could write love in the most unlikely stories.
“Ok God. Here’s the pen. I tried to write romance, but it became horror. You write the story, I’ll enjoy it.”
I got up from the bench and walked away, already feeling a little lighter. Life was easier if you didn’t have to worry about the story.

The Futility Of Impossibility (A Love Letter Devoid Of Love)

The Futility of Impossibility
(A Love Letter Devoid of Love)
A ridiculously short story by Joshua Boyce

To Whom It May Concern,

Darling, I doubt that I may express it any more clearly than this: I can't, nor will I, reciprocate any feelings and emotions that you may have for me. I don't apologize. Though, I am sorry that you're quite heartbroken and feel you will never get over it. Shall I list the reasons why? Is there any way you will accept my decision without a profound explanation as to why I should refuse you my heart? Very well.
First, and maybe most importantly, is your personal presentation. It's absolutely horrid. Now, I don't mean to say that you are ugly, or that you stink. On the contrary, you are rather handsome, well, in a way, and you don't stink much. But it's just something about you that I feel will never coexist with myself for the rest of our lives. It may be that revoltingly goofy grin you feel you must grace
the rest of the world with. It may be your arrogant attitude. It may be the fact that you feel yourself worthy to be graced by the likes of me. In any case, this is definitely the main reason I shall separate myself from you.
Secondly is the fact that, well, I am too good for you. Surely you see that yourself. I mean to say, look at yourself. A fine fellow sure, for some people, but for me? Since I am the epitome of perfection personified, I shouldn't stoop to a fellow of your, well, you know what I mean, right?
Well, darling, that's two reasons. Shall I list more? Do you really wish for me to degrade you further just to satisfy your curiosity. No, I will save you from that. After all, we are friends, and what are friends for? Oh, yes. That brings me to the next reason for writing, and that is this: let's do be friends. I feel that you may realize by now that we can't be anymore than friends, but I do hope that we can be the absolute best of friends. Of course, though, you realize that I can't call you, and you can't call me. When we see each other we are to do our best to keep the conversation to a minimum. A little, "Hello. How are you? Good-bye." Nothing too deep nor intellectually stimulating. We can't get together for, say, dinner, or a movie. When we are in a group of mutual friends you must do your best to ignore me as I shall do my best to ignore you. We must also keep all personal contact in public to a minimum. After all, what friends do these things? It would be absolutely awkward. But I do believe this will be the beginning of a beautiful acquaintanceship.

Love (but please don't),
Your Closest Friend