From Outside

I had an incredibly vivid and disturbing nightmare today, during a nap when I fell asleep while editing. However, when I was out tonight and tried to retell my nightmare, I realized how not frightening and silly it sounded, how it barely resembled a nightmare and how I couldn’t even explain it without going on and on. And, so, I’m going to rewrite my nightmare as a short piece of fiction to see if I can better capture the essence, as my written words are far more elegant and explanatory than anything I will ever say.

Some of the dream I have already made sense of—the setting, as last night I watched two episodes of Vampire Diaries, and of course the overall sentiment of being alone and discarded, as that’s something many of us fear and worry about, often more so than we should, and the appearance of certain items in the dream, as they came up in discussion late into the night. The rest, however, is beyond me, as so much is.

Truly, the dream was feeling more than anything else, of knowing I was alone and could never escape the solitude, that I was destined to wander, alone, forever, and I couldn’t break away from the hold it had on me. Even now the feeling is bothersome and yet I cannot explain it nearly as well as I should.

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From Outside

We arrived deep into the night, passing into the foyer of a great mansion, a building unlike any of us have ever seen, yet alone entered. Gothic inside, too much like a castle ripped out of the ancient times and thrown into ours, the estate of a lord, a duchess, a count of depthless darkness. A long hall which a narrow red rug traveled down, to where the hall split into two—left and right. The ceiling, vaulted, arched a hundred feet above us as the darkness of night passed through the skylights and dimmed the flickering light of torches in sconces along the walls.

We thought ourselves dressed for the occasion. Suits, ties, vests, black shoes polished to reflect the torchlight, but the attendants merely shook their heads and stared at us with their empty, unresponsive eyes. It’s those eyes that still haunt me, the vacancy within them, the eyes of soulless husks with a single purpose: to allow entry, to prepare visitors.

We obeyed their commands and donned the long blue robes handed to us. Mine was longest of all, I remember, the robe ending at my feet and making it difficult to walk without tripping over the thick, burdensome fabric. The others had no problem; their robes fit perfectly, seemed tailor to their frames while mine merely draped off me.

Six, or seven, or eight of us in all—remembering is difficult—and although none of us understood the reasons for these robes or what we were getting ourselves into, we didn’t complain or ask questions. We smiled, nervously, as so many of my smiles tend to be, and nodded in acceptance. We had come this far; we could not turn around now.

“You will be chosen one by one,” the attendant said, his voice as empty as his eyes. “You will walk the halls and the escorts will choose you and you will be seated and it will be yours.”

We again nodded as if we understood.

The attendants drew the red ropes aside and allowed us deeper into the foyer, down the hall. So much is blur. A restaurant, I thought we were going to a restaurant, or was it a hotel? A concert? Chosen for what? Memories are so hazy. The most important things always go misunderstood.

Vividness returned after we left the attendants behind, for good. At least for me. I don’t know what’s become of the others, if they were destined for better lives, if they were meant to find someone here, or something, or live happily ever after. But that never happens, does it? And all the most famous love stories end in despair.

I recall seeing a notebook lying on the floor near the beginning of my journey. A notebook, I had thought. Why is such a thing here? But now I know.

We began down the stone halls. The lavishness of the foyer immediately vanished, replaced by gray stone austerity and thick wooden doors to both sides. Women—they resembled vampires at first glance, and maybe they were—stood outside the doors dressed in tight black leather, all with black hair in curls flowing down their backs. These women, these escorts, approached members of my group one by one, smiling their captivating smiles and drawing my friends away. One by one. One by one. It all happened so suddenly, so quickly, that it took me a few moments to realize I was alone.

The others were chosen for greater things. They were accepted, and perhaps loved? I still don’t know how love plays a role here, but it does, somehow, deep down.

I’m still walking. Sometimes, outside the rooms I can see through the walls, and there’s happiness inside. I can’t explain what I see. Outlines of people, living shadows, warm colors, emotions felt through time and space. Pleasure, joy, so many real emotions that I cannot experience from outside these walls and wooden doors.

 And so I walk alone.

A time ago, near the start of this, near the point that I realized my solitude, one of the escorts approached. But she wasn’t like the others. I couldn’t see her face. She was little more than a blur, a cloud of shadows with the figure of a woman deep within. She said, “You shouldn’t have to walk alone. I’ve walked alone for so long here. I can walk with you, if you want.”

I can’t recall my answer. I think I would have accepted her, as no one wants to be alone, but the memories fade and blur and so much is forgotten, and at the end of it all I still walk alone. She’s here, somewhere, wandering as well, and so many others are here as well. We’ve either found our destinations, where we should be, or we’re wandering alone, somehow avoiding each other through every step, somehow missing opportunity after opportunity.