The time for a walk came, just like any other day that had passed. He has to continue walking down the street, over to the park, up to the start of the alley. Then, someone will divert him from his way. At present, nothing can be changed. He will look for a place that doesn’t limit his sight. Memory requires space. Wasn’t it then that the gesture of that hand came from afar? When did he come up with it? Was it an illusion? A dream. The word made him stop. He ought to forget her. Until the end of the day. Now she dreams with the others. “Wake up in your dreams!” the opposite banner insists. There were times when dreaming was the skill of a few. Now it’s fate.
Ever since that guy isolated the dream waves, everything changed. Now everyone creates their own world instead of living in the world of the other. The first volunteers insisted that the experiment continue. Nobody could turn them back to their previous life. Gradually, with increasing interest, the first chambers of dreams came. Now they are everywhere. Once, without knowing why, he entered one of them. The bodies laid down on loungers behind glass doors. Visitors were either standing around or passing each other. “Mother, I am here today again. Can you hear me? I know that what you feel is stronger than the memory of the time when you were at home. You deserve it. Someday, when I gather what’s needed, I would like them to put myself next to you. Then, maybe, we can meet in our dreams. Can you hear me? Give me a sign!” The sight of a woman in the cage remains there: frozen upwards to a dome of bluish light, far away from words and sound. On top of the temples of the ones lying down, plates flash out, connected with cables. Through them, brain signals are received, from which are filtered the strongest dream waves and which are returned after amplification. The employees drop the curtain in front of one of the cages. “They should fix his attire,” someone said from behind.
He has heard that sometimes, when the hour came, with a quiet, gentle sound the cage would sink beneath the floor. On the next day, there was someone else. “Look: an elder!” yells one of the children that approached him: a discrepancy between savings and age. All of his coevals are already there. With one exception: Lot. Wasn’t he the one who claimed that shutting yourself inside dreams is the end of reason and therefore inevitable death, common to all? Initially, he spread that view through the net, but then, once he had lost patience and confidence, he began to stop random strangers. In the beginning, they rejected him with hostility. Afterwards, they got used to the pointlessness of such efforts. He isn’t Lot. He has no will. By the way, where is Lot? He disappeared. Nobody remembers him anymore. Could it be that he too gave up? What would he say now? What could be said? Why doesn’t he leave things to their logical conclusion? Everything has an end. He has to hurry. He runs back over the alley, careless and free like a child. The air stops in his chest. It’s time.
In the reception room, where they filled out forms, there is silence. A prelude to infinite dreams. The girl from the desk greeted him with a smile: “Well, Mr. Lot, we are glad that you, too, have finally come to us!”
This story previously appeared in Fancy Shop on Amazon.com.
Edited by Erik Homberger.
Valeri is a male from Bulgaria (he/him). Author of the e-book of short stories Fancy Shop (grotesque and slipstream) about hidden beyond the visibility of things.