Formidable Fixation, chapter 1
She was the object of his obsession. He saw her every night, but at the same time, he didn't see her. He had never seen her face, but knew they were meant to be. On that night, he was determined to reach her, take hold of her shoulders, and turn her around. He walked through the now memorized streets, greeted the same people as usual, and made his way to The Woman. He reached the door of the restaurant, and could see the back of her head through the glass as he reached for the doorknob.
The phone woke him up. The clock read 10:49AM; he had missed work again. He answered. It was his boss.
"Hello?"
"Are you aware of what time it is? Why haven't you called?"
"Well, yes. I woke up ill this morning. Fever, too." A lie.
"And you didn't bother to call?"
"I guess not. I must have been........sleepwalking." Also a lie.
"A warning; this is your last sick day. Good bye."
He hung up, waiting for the phone to be safe in its cradle to mutter, "Bastard." Achingly, he got up and walked into the bathroom. The person he saw in the mirror startled him. His usually shaven face was well on its way to having a beard, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks, and his eyes were caked with sleep. Confused, he checked the calendar in the kitchen, and saw it was Tuesday. Last time the remembered being awake was Thursday. He told himself he was imagining things, and sat down to have some cereal. After pouring some into a bowl, he started reading the box. Instead of seeing the colorful diagrams, he was seeing The Woman. He was seeing what he always saw of her. The back of her head, draped with hair. The hair was what got him. Flowing, voluptuous curls of red hair. It reminded him of flames. More than anything, he wanted to be engulfed in those flames. He thought about how close he had gotten to reaching her the night before. He even remembered how vivid it all was. Smells, textures, everything. Those things got stronger with every dream. It felt real.
He was contemplating this when he remembered he had planned to have lunch with a friend that day. He got dressed. Thought of The Woman. Got in his car. Thought of The Woman. Drove to McConnell's Deli. Thought of Her.
His daydream continued until after he ordered from the menu. His friend spoke up abruptly.
"Uh....hello?"
"Hmm?"
"You haven't said one word. You seemed spaced out, too. Are you even aware of what you just ordered?"
"Not really."
"Thought so."
"Look, let's not make a fight out of this."
"Out of what? A figment of your imagination, around which your world revolves?"
"I've told you before, she is not just a figment of my imagination. She's real somehow, I just haven't figured out in which way."
"Yeah. Good luck with that."
"You know what? I've lost my appetite. You're paying, right?"
Without waiting for a response, he left the table. The host bade him good day when he had reached the door. He turned around to reply, and saw a scar running from the man's nose to his right jaw. After a moment's hesitation, he smiled, nodded, and left. He bolted the rest of the way to his car. There was something about the host he didn't like. He got in the car, and any thoughts of the strange man soon disappeared.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in front of the TV. It was shut off. In his mind's eye he was repeatedly seeing his hand reaching for the doorknob of the door into the restaurant where his love sat. He kept concentrating on how real everything had seemed. Maybe he could will the dream to go on longer. Hell, maybe dreams were really just another dimension. All he knew was that he was going to make it past the door this time. After a year of having thing nightly dream, he was anxious.
The moment he started to doze, he snapped himself awake and jogged to bed, not bothering with taking off his clothes of the day or eating dinner. Within seconds, he was sound asleep. Soon, he was running through the streets, ignoring the passersby, intent on arriving at the restaurant. He stopped inches from the door, breathing hard. He reached for the door, and opened it. He crossed the threshold. That was when everything changed.
His senses became flooded. The lights grew blinding, the smells overbearing, the sounds deafening. He fainted.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
He opened his eyes, focusing on the hand.
"Four."
"Good job. Didn't think you needed that, but it's always fun to do. Here." He helped him up.
"Where am I?" He looked around, taking in all the oddities.
"Oh, there are many names for this place. This is not the time for me to delve into them."
"Is this a dream?" It was then he noticed a scar on the man's face, running from his nose to his right jaw.
"You may call it that, I suppose. You were more correct in your earlier thinking; it's another dimension, for lack of a better word. So few are fortunate enough to discover it, I'm sorry to say."
"How did I get here?"
"You managed to open the door! See back there, how it is propped open? It must stay open if you ever want to go back to your quote unquote dimension."
"Huh. What if I find a particular person here that I'd like to stay with forever? Could I shut the door?"
"You probably could, my dear sir, but let me assure you there are no good things here."
"I think I've seen differently." He walked away to the table where The Woman was sitting.
This was his moment. He took a deep breath, and reached out. His exhale turned into a gasp when The Woman swiveled around. Hiding under the fiery hair was a grotesque, maggot-infested, skinless skull. The eye sockets, empty except for a thick layer of grime, seemed to leer at him. The jaw hung open in a silent scream. He couldn't take his eyes off the monstrosity as he realized the dream for what it really was; a nightmare. For every backward step he took, The Woman took one forward. They walked that way, as in a duel, until they finally reached the door. He blindly grasped behind him, but couldn't find the door. Horror-struck, he reeled around and looked at the door.
It had been closed.
The phone woke him up. The clock read 10:49AM; he had missed work again. He answered. It was his boss.
"Hello?"
"Are you aware of what time it is? Why haven't you called?"
"Well, yes. I woke up ill this morning. Fever, too." A lie.
"And you didn't bother to call?"
"I guess not. I must have been........sleepwalking." Also a lie.
"A warning; this is your last sick day. Good bye."
He hung up, waiting for the phone to be safe in its cradle to mutter, "Bastard." Achingly, he got up and walked into the bathroom. The person he saw in the mirror startled him. His usually shaven face was well on its way to having a beard, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks, and his eyes were caked with sleep. Confused, he checked the calendar in the kitchen, and saw it was Tuesday. Last time the remembered being awake was Thursday. He told himself he was imagining things, and sat down to have some cereal. After pouring some into a bowl, he started reading the box. Instead of seeing the colorful diagrams, he was seeing The Woman. He was seeing what he always saw of her. The back of her head, draped with hair. The hair was what got him. Flowing, voluptuous curls of red hair. It reminded him of flames. More than anything, he wanted to be engulfed in those flames. He thought about how close he had gotten to reaching her the night before. He even remembered how vivid it all was. Smells, textures, everything. Those things got stronger with every dream. It felt real.
He was contemplating this when he remembered he had planned to have lunch with a friend that day. He got dressed. Thought of The Woman. Got in his car. Thought of The Woman. Drove to McConnell's Deli. Thought of Her.
His daydream continued until after he ordered from the menu. His friend spoke up abruptly.
"Uh....hello?"
"Hmm?"
"You haven't said one word. You seemed spaced out, too. Are you even aware of what you just ordered?"
"Not really."
"Thought so."
"Look, let's not make a fight out of this."
"Out of what? A figment of your imagination, around which your world revolves?"
"I've told you before, she is not just a figment of my imagination. She's real somehow, I just haven't figured out in which way."
"Yeah. Good luck with that."
"You know what? I've lost my appetite. You're paying, right?"
Without waiting for a response, he left the table. The host bade him good day when he had reached the door. He turned around to reply, and saw a scar running from the man's nose to his right jaw. After a moment's hesitation, he smiled, nodded, and left. He bolted the rest of the way to his car. There was something about the host he didn't like. He got in the car, and any thoughts of the strange man soon disappeared.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in front of the TV. It was shut off. In his mind's eye he was repeatedly seeing his hand reaching for the doorknob of the door into the restaurant where his love sat. He kept concentrating on how real everything had seemed. Maybe he could will the dream to go on longer. Hell, maybe dreams were really just another dimension. All he knew was that he was going to make it past the door this time. After a year of having thing nightly dream, he was anxious.
The moment he started to doze, he snapped himself awake and jogged to bed, not bothering with taking off his clothes of the day or eating dinner. Within seconds, he was sound asleep. Soon, he was running through the streets, ignoring the passersby, intent on arriving at the restaurant. He stopped inches from the door, breathing hard. He reached for the door, and opened it. He crossed the threshold. That was when everything changed.
His senses became flooded. The lights grew blinding, the smells overbearing, the sounds deafening. He fainted.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
He opened his eyes, focusing on the hand.
"Four."
"Good job. Didn't think you needed that, but it's always fun to do. Here." He helped him up.
"Where am I?" He looked around, taking in all the oddities.
"Oh, there are many names for this place. This is not the time for me to delve into them."
"Is this a dream?" It was then he noticed a scar on the man's face, running from his nose to his right jaw.
"You may call it that, I suppose. You were more correct in your earlier thinking; it's another dimension, for lack of a better word. So few are fortunate enough to discover it, I'm sorry to say."
"How did I get here?"
"You managed to open the door! See back there, how it is propped open? It must stay open if you ever want to go back to your quote unquote dimension."
"Huh. What if I find a particular person here that I'd like to stay with forever? Could I shut the door?"
"You probably could, my dear sir, but let me assure you there are no good things here."
"I think I've seen differently." He walked away to the table where The Woman was sitting.
This was his moment. He took a deep breath, and reached out. His exhale turned into a gasp when The Woman swiveled around. Hiding under the fiery hair was a grotesque, maggot-infested, skinless skull. The eye sockets, empty except for a thick layer of grime, seemed to leer at him. The jaw hung open in a silent scream. He couldn't take his eyes off the monstrosity as he realized the dream for what it really was; a nightmare. For every backward step he took, The Woman took one forward. They walked that way, as in a duel, until they finally reached the door. He blindly grasped behind him, but couldn't find the door. Horror-struck, he reeled around and looked at the door.
It had been closed.
