I sent the email and went back to work on my game.  It was running on my phone and I took to the controls to see what needed tweaking.  It was a mess.  I spent some time earlier that day working on getting the character navigation working, but that was hardly a monumental achievement.  I could move my stand-in sprite back and forth, make it jump, and the physics engine was also working properly—slowing down movement in areas, causing it to slide on certain surfaces, changes in gravity affected the height and duration of jumps and so forth—but there was still a lot of work to do.  Triggers weren’t working, so progression toward the end of the level was rendered impossible.  That was something that needed fixing.

I sighed as I sat back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling—hoping, maybe, that an epiphany would be up there.  Nothing but ceiling tiles, unfortunately.  I closed my eyes for a moment to think.

She had a hand on my chest and a glass of wine in the other.  I opened my eyes and looked at her; she looked up at me with those beautiful light brown eyes.

Night 4—Friday:

A movie was playing in the background on the television and two empty plates stacked on top of each other were resting on my coffee table.  Alice sat beside me—her legs propped up on the couch, head on my shoulder, right arm wrapped around my left and holding a glass of wine.  She was warm.  I could feel her heart beating on my arm as she lay there at my side.  It was comforting.  She looked back at the television; I watched her for a few moments longer.

In my own right hand, I held a glass of wine—merlot.  It was one of my favorite reds and my preferred wine for a steak dinner.  I took a sip.

Alice’s wine exchanged hands as she sat up to take a sip of her own.  When she lowered the glass from her lips, she placed the wine back in her right hand, shifted her body even closer to mine, and rested her head on my shoulder.  It couldn’t have been comfortable, my bony shoulder against her cheek like that, but she didn’t seem to care; she was content—happy even, judging by the expression on her face.  She placed her left hand on my chest again.  Each time my chest elevated with each inhale, she closed her eyes.

Still resting on my arm, I could feel her heart beating.  Each breath kept her eyes closed a second longer—each breath had her heart beating faster.  She rubbed her cheek into my shoulder, I could hear her breathing heavier.  I relaxed my neck from holding my head in its upright position and pressed my cheek against hers.  Her rhythmically sensual heavy breathing continued.  I turned toward her and set my wine down on the table.  I reached for hers as I wrapped my other arm around her.  When I set her glass down on the table, we held each other locked in a passionate, hormone-driven embrace and stared at each other for what seemed like hours before we kissed.

She was soft, warm.  Her lips were as comforting as they were arousing.  It had been years since I had been with a woman, but kissing Alice may as well have been my first.  I was flooded with a thousand sensations of physical and emotional desires.  She was beautiful, and she was with me.  She was smart, and she was with me.  She was funny, and she was with me.  All of the morning coffee conversations we’ve had at work and the playful office banters… she exemplified everything I could possibly want in a woman.  She was the model of perfection and she actually wanted to be there with me.  This is a woman I could love, I thought.

I pulled back.  She sat there frozen in my arms.  Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted—beckoning me to return.  But something felt wrong.  I didn’t know how I got there on the couch with her.  It was a wonderful experience, but something was missing.  She opened her eyes and stared at me.

There was a long pause as I stumbled over thoughts trying to find words to say.  I lacked eloquence, so what came out was rather blunt and direct, “I like you, Alice.  A lot.”

She smiled at my crude sentiment, “I like you too, Tom.”

She must have seen something written on my face because after sitting there holding each other in silence for several minutes longer, she just closed the embrace, rested her head on my shoulder, and stated, “A lot.”

She held me tightly, rubbing my back as I rested my cheek atop her head.  “I’m glad you came over.”

“I’m glad you fed me,” she joked.

We turned back to the television; the movie was still playing in the background and neither of us knew what was really going on with the plot.  I grabbed our glasses of wine from the table and handed Alice hers.  I sat back on the couch; Alice grabbed my arm and slung it around her shoulders.  I looked over at her, but she kept her gaze straight forward—I could see a smirk forming in the corner of her mouth.

When the movie finished, we sat there in silence as the credits rolled.  I didn’t want her to go, and she didn’t want to leave.  Not a word was spoken as the credits scrolled up the screen.  When the film had reached its ultimate end, she sighed as she sat up, pushing herself off me, and set her glass on the table.

“I should really get going,” she said as she looked back at me.

I looked up at the clock, it read “12:17.”

“It is pretty late,” I said.  “Let me walk you to your car.”

We stood up and walked to the door.  As I opened the door of my house for her, she reached for my hand.  I motioned with my head toward the exit, “After you.”

She led me to her car, which was parked on the street in front of my house.  I opened her car door and turned to her.  “I had a great time tonight,” I said as I held her door open.  “We should make a habit of this whole getting together thing.”

“We should.”  She paused, “You know… I have some plans this Sunday that I’d love to get out of.  You should come over!  I’ll return the favor and cook for you.”

“I’d like that.”

“So it’s a date, then?”

“Absolutely.”

We hugged one last time and kissed each other goodbye.  She sat down in the driver’s seat and I closed the door for her.  As she started the car, she shot me another smile.  The car roared to life and she drove off.

When she was out of sight, I approached my door and opened it.  Matt was standing on the other side and he looked pale and shocked to see me.  I gave him a nod and made my way to the kitchen—I desperately needed my morning coffee.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

It was bright and warm this time.  No rain.  No storm.  The sun was on its way down and the streets were packed.  Pedestrians absent-mindedly walked onward to their destinations and the traffic hummed, buzzed, and honked beside me.  Rush hour, I concluded.

The tower, my destination, stood about five blocks south from the hotel with the green awning.  I walked with a determined pace.  Each step shouted my resolve.  I kept my eyes fixed on that damned building—I wouldn’t let it leave my sight for fear it might move to keep me from conquering it.  Tonight, I would climb to the top.  Tonight, I would know why I stood atop the tall building.  I would stand there with purpose.  I would climb to the top so that I could fly.

The people on the sidewalks served as obstacles impeding my progress.  They all marched along, side by side with seemingly little more purpose than to make my forward motion difficult.  They talked to each other about nonsensical things; random strings of thought that these figments of my fractured mind deemed interesting.  The ones not in groups marched with their heads down either buried in a magazine or their phones.  Reading manufactured articles or sending imaginary emails to convince me that this world in which I found myself was real.

I knew it wasn’t, but I dared not convince myself that I was dreaming—I was afraid I would awaken.  If I awoke, how could I conquer that building?  My great challenge—the thing that’s been keeping me awake for all these nights.  No, I fought against the determined hordes and progressed toward my destination.

After what must have been twenty minutes of walking around those mindless pedestrians and stopping for traffic, I arrived at the door to the building.  I felt a small sense of victory in finally arriving, but I knew I still had the climb to the top.  I reached out for the door and opened it.

I stepped into the office and the door closed behind me.  Terrance was walking into the kitchen, I decided to follow him.

He walked straight for the coffee pot and picked it up.  There was maybe enough coffee left for a full cup.  He set the pot down and looked back at me.  “Looks like there’s only enough for one of us.  Pretty sure the cupboards are empty, too.  Want it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it,” I chuckled.  “Go ahead, I’ll get some coffee with my lunch or something.”

Day 3—Thursday:

He shrugged in a way that said, “Don’t mind if I do,” and poured himself the last of the coffee.  He opened three packets of sugar and dumped them in; to finish, he added a healthy dose of creamer and stirred.  I watched as the last of the caffeine in the office was diluted and consumed in front of me.  I could have stopped it, too.

Shame, I thought as I turned and walked toward my workstation.

As I began to walk away, he turned back toward me and said, “Hey, Tom!”

I stopped and turned to face him.  “Yeah?”

“I sent you some new assets last night, like you asked.  They’re nothing special, but it beats reusing assets, I’m sure.”

“Good, I’ll go check them out now.”

He nodded at me as I turned away and walked to my desk.  I sat down, woke up my computer, and opened Outlook.  Terrance’s message was at the top of my inbox:

From:        Terrance Freis
Subject:   Re:  Assets
To:              Tom Larsson
CC:             Matt Butler

Hey, Tom, here’s the stuff you asked for.  You didn’t really give me much time, so they’re pretty crude—and, no, I didn’t make animation cycles.  It’s just for a prototype, though, so I’m sure they’ll be fine.  If you need anything else, let me know.

Terrance Freis

I downloaded the attachments.  He didn’t lie; they’re pretty basic.  They’ll work, though.  I moved the sprites and backgrounds to my project folder and opened up the code for my prototype.  I stared blankly at it for a few minutes—maybe wishing I had a cup of coffee to kick start my brain and help me think.

After letting out a heavy sigh, I began working on my project.  Fine tuning character navigation, tweaking the physics, replacing assets—it was all very tedious work, but seeing it come together was gratifying.  Each error became a new puzzle to solve—some incredibly easy to fix, but frustratingly difficult to find.  Despite the frustrations, each success gave me the motivation I needed to continue working; something I desperately needed since caffeine wasn’t readily available.

I hadn’t replaced all the old Mudd-Runn assets in my prototype, but I had reached a point where I wanted to see how it ran.  I plugged in my phone and deployed the program.  The game came to life and a crude collage of images filled the screen—leftover assets from Mudd-Runn I had repurposed for my prototype.  While those reused assets worked for me as I plugged away at my prototype, they certainly wouldn’t be acceptable to show off my idea for the meeting on Friday.  I opened Outlook and typed up a message for Terrance.

Day 2—Wednesday:

From:        Tom Larsson
Subject:   Assets
To:              Terrance Freis

Terrance, I’m working on a prototype for a new game and Matt’s setting up a meeting for Friday.  Right now I’m reusing assets from mudd runn, but I’d really like something a little more appropriate for what I’m working on.  It’s just a basic demo, so it doesn’t need to be anything too fancy, just a character sprite, some props, a background, foreground stuff with maybe three different environments (lava, water, ice, maybe?), platforms, etc.  This should keep you busy for a while.  Maybe stop by my cube sometime today so we can talk more about it?

Thanks,
Tom Larsson

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Night 3—Thursday:

“Must not have had enough caffeine this morning, I guess,” I said shaking my head.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Dr. Taggart asked me.

“Yes, please… black.”

He paged his secretary and asked her to bring in a cup of coffee.  She set it down on the doctor’s desk in front of me and exited the room.  When she closed the door behind her, the doctor continued, “You were going to tell me something, Tom?”

“Oh, uh… yeah.  I’ve been having trouble making sense of things lately.  Like everything is jumbled together, you know?”

“I guess not.  How do you mean?”

“It’s like all my thoughts are just running together and I don’t know where one starts and the other ends.  Like I’m trying to make sense of things and everything is out of order.”

“I see.  Is this something that’s been going on for a while?”

“No.  I mean, I’ve been getting sleep since I got the CD, but it’s like sleeping has thrown everything out of whack.  It’s like my mind is jumping all over the place and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I see,” he said looking down at his notepad.  He quickly wrote something down and peered up at me.  “Your brain is still adjusting to finally getting some sleep.  You’ve had a routine that consisted of as little rest as possible and now you’re getting a full eight hours of sleep.  As much as you need the sleep, your mind is still adjusting to this new routine, so it may take a while to sort things out.”

“So, it’s a temporary thing?”

“Yes.  Once you get into a normal sleep routine, I’m sure all of this will clear up.  But that comes back to finding the root of the nightmare.  When you find out what brings you to the top of the building, take hold of your dream, take the leap, and fly, I’m sure you’ll find it a lot easier to get some rest.  And you won’t need some easy listening CD to get some shuteye.”

We talked a little longer about the significance of my dream.  What I thought the building might be, why and how I got up on top of it, and why I always fell.  I don’t know if anything came of it, but it was an interesting discussion.

The doctor theorized that the building might be a challenge that I’m facing.  Climbing to the top of this tall structure seems like a sort of accomplishment, but I have this fear of failing—that’s why I fall.  Despite making it to the top, I’ve got the pressure of actually making it and the fear of what I’m going to do after I reach the top.  I keep trying to climb, but there’s nowhere else to go, so I fall.  That’s what the doctor thought, anyway.

My session ended and he suggested I keep in touch and continue coming back to talk—to see what kind of progress I’ve made.  I left the room and set up another appointment with his secretary.  Monday, next week.  I walked downstairs and exited the building.  Opening the door, I was welcomed into a familiar location that didn’t at all resemble the outside of Dr. Taggart’s office.

I looked up and saw I was standing under a green awning.  The street signs beside me indicated that I was on the corner of 3^rd and Washington.

Day #—@$73R1$Kday:

I knew exactly where I was.  This familiar scene I’ve walked dozens of times before; the one I had watched form itself right before my eyes.  I looked south, scanned the skyline, and finally saw the towering building —the monument to all my restless nights.  I stared at it and felt it beckoning me to stand on its peak.  I would not be defeated this night.  No, this night, I would fly.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Day 2—Wednesday:

“It’s almost one,” I said as I set my phone down beside my nearly empty plate of chicken lo mein.

“We should probably head back to the office,” Alice said as she raised her hand for the check.

“I’ll get it,” I said, motioning her to put her hand down.  Our server approached the table holding the bill and two fortune cookies; Alice grabbed hers and cracked it open almost immediately.  I handed the woman my credit card.

She unfolded her fortune as she popped half of the cookie into her mouth.  “’Take a break—enjoy the company of friends.’  That’s hardly a fortune,” she said as she finished the other half of her cookie.

“Fortune?  No.  But, good advice,” I shot her a smile.  She knew she worked too hard, but she was passionate about what she did.  She didn’t love the company, but she loved her job; more than anything, though, she just wanted to succeed.  I didn’t know much about her past or her family, but everything I’ve learned from her indicated that she distanced herself from them to prove that she could make it on her own.

“What does yours say?”

I picked my fortune cookie up from the table and opened it.  “’Strange opportunities are coming your way.  Take the leap!’”

“See, that’s a fortune!”

“Can’t deny that.  I wonder what kind of strange opportunities I have waiting for me.”

“Only time will tell.”

Our waitress returned with my card and receipt; I smiled at her as she handed them to me.  As she walked away, I pushed away from the table, reached for Alice’s hand as I motioned toward the door with the other, and said, “Shall we?”

When we got to the office, I sat down at my desk and connected my phone to my workstation.  The screen lit up and signaled to me that it was connected.  I launched my prototype.  I looked over at the large display to make sure that it was up for everybody to see.  Everything seemed to be running like it was supposed to.  I turned around and saw that everybody was there for the meeting.

Day 4—Friday:

All eyes were on me as everybody waited eagerly to see what I had dreamed up for our successor to Mudd-Runn.  There were only four of us in the company:  Matt, the owner; Alice, the programmer who did sound design work on the side; Terrance, our graphic designer; and me, the other programmer.  We had a bit of success with Mudd-Runn when it was suggested that our company develop mobile games, but customers had grown tired of our first title and we desperately needed something new to keep us afloat and maybe even allow us to turn a profit.

“So, what do you have to show us?” Matt asked with a bored expression on his face and his phone in hand.

“Well,” I explained, “I’m sure you’re all aware that sales for our first game are down drastically from where they used to be when we first launched.  There’s nothing we can really do about that because we’re in a crowded market that gets more and more crowded every day.  We’ve tried to keepMudd-Runn alive for a few months now and while we’ve seen some spikes in downloads here and there, it’s pretty apparent that the game is, for all intents and purposes, dead.

“Instead of trying to breathe life into the corpse of our last project, I think it’s time we move on to something new—something more exciting and innovative.”

The game was running a demo on the screen behind me as I spoke.  I touched the screen of my phone and was brought to the game’s menu.  I started up a new game and moved my character around on the screen.  There wasn’t much in the way of animation, but the new, albeit crude, sprites and environments that Terrance had sent me looked much better than the assets I was reusing from Mudd-Runn.

“What’s the point of the game?” Matt asked.

“To get to the end of the level,” I quipped.  He didn’t appear amused.

“We still have the physics engine from our last game,” I continued, “and it doesn’t make much sense to let that go to waste.  So, I’ve tweaked it a little so it can be used in this prototype.  It’s a physics-based puzzle platformer.  Each level will present players with a unique challenge centering on environmental attributes.  Gravity, destructible environments, water, ice, and so forth.  We’ll slowly ease players into these unique challenges and gradually combine environments in different ways to make the game fresh and interesting all the way through.”

With his eyes on his phone and completely oblivious to my presentation, Matt asked, “What are you thinking for longevity?”

“Well, there’s a lot we can do with the initial release… and this is something that can be easily expanded in the future.  We can introduce new environments with different gravities and surfaces with different frictions and so forth.  Since we’re going to be combining the challenges, we don’t need to have all the possibilities available right at launch.”

“Sounds good to me,” Matt concluded in a disinterested monotone.

“I like it,” Alice chimed excitedly.  Terrance nodded in agreement.

“Okay, then.  I want you all to focus exclusively on this new game,” Matt said decisively.  “Everything we have planned for Mudd-Runn is to be put on indefinite hold.”

It felt good to have such a positive reaction toward my idea.  I still felt like it was nowhere near ready to present for that meeting, but with everybody working on it, production on the game would go much smoother.

Everybody rose from their seats and made their way out of the conference room.  I nodded at them gratefully.

Alice was the last to leave; she stopped in front of me.  “We still on for tonight?”  She asked.

“Absolutely,” I responded.

“Good.  I’m looking forward to it,” she said as she exited the room.

I turned toward the screen and pressed the power button.  The screen went dark.  Blackness.  My eyes tightly clenched shut, the headache began to subside.  I opened my eyes.

Dr. Taggart sat across from me; a genuine concern was painted on his face.  “Are you sure you’re okay, Tom?”

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Alice sat across from me with a dish of lo mein in front of her.  She twirled her fork in the noodles without looking as she started a conversation, “How are things with the therapist going?”

An odd conversation starter, I thought.

“Didn’t really seem to be going anywhere at first, but I think I’m actually making progress now,” I replied.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I still think the sessions are a waste of time… and money, but he introduced me to a CD that actually helped.”

“What, like a hypnosis CD?”

“No, just nature sounds and other crap—you know, the kind of CD you can pull from any easy listening or New Age aisle.  Except this one actually worked.

“My mom sent me some old cassettes of classical music and other nonsense that she used to play for me when I was a kid.  They didn’t help,” I stopped.  Her light brown eyes stared intently at my boring life’s story—she seemed interested for some strange reason.

“I’m sorry; I must be boring you,” I said politely, trying to see if her interest was merely a façade.

“No,” she chuckled, “I don’t really get good conversation these days—what with work and all.”

“I can imagine.  You must be busy with your double duty.”

“I love it, but it’s hell—let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fine by me.”

We sat in silence for several minutes focusing more on our food than our company.  I had spent the past fifty days unable to sleep—unable to focus.  It’s been hard to do anything, so any conversation I could start would mostly relate to work, something I’m sure she’d rather not discuss over lunch break.  For several minutes I sat there hoping that she would just say something; instead, the only sounds I heard were the clanking of our silverware against the ceramic plates and the faint, melodic sounds of traditional music that fell from the overhead speakers.

Finally, she broke the silence, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I replied through a half-sincere smile, “I don’t really have much to talk about.”

“And you seemed to be doing so well before,” she said sarcastically.

“Hey, now, I’m not the only one not talking here,” I quipped back.

“Good point.”

“Yeah, so, what about you?  Other than dedicate your every waking breath to work, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?  I don’t understand,” she smiled a toothy grin before asking if I had the time.

My phone was resting on the table; I picked it up and illuminated the display.  A crude collage of images filled the screen—leftover assets fromMudd-Runn I had repurposed for my prototype.  I stared blankly at the screen for several moments trying to figure out why my prototype was running.

I terminated the program and was brought to my phone’s home screen—the clock read “12:17.”  That can’t be right, I thought as I shook the phone—hoping, for some reason, that would adjust the time on display to present.  It didn’t.  I set the phone back down on my desk and pushed my chair over toward my monitor—my computer’s clock agreed with my phone.

I looked up and saw Matt walking toward the office’s exit as he pointed toward me and shouted, “I sent you an email—meeting at 10:30 Friday.”

I waved in acknowledgment of his statement and opened up Outlook.  His appointment invite was at the top of my inbox; I accepted the invitation, synced the date with my phone, and set a reminder.

I scrolled through my calendar to see if there were any other appointments I had scheduled in that I may have forgotten about.  I discovered that I had an appointment with Dr. Taggart on Thursday that I forgot to cancel. Maybe I should keep it, I considered, maybe something could actually come of the session now that I’ve had some sleep.

When I finished checking my appointments, I logged out of my workstation; it was after noon and I was getting hungry.  I unplugged the USB cable from my phone and pushed in my chair.  I looked around the office as I walked toward the exit—it was empty.  I concluded that they must all be out to lunch.

It was rare that the entire office would take their lunch at the same time, but it has happened in the past.  Generally one or two people will take a later lunch so they can man the phones, but we never really received many calls and we all had voicemail in the event that a call was missed.  I didn’t feel bad about leaving the office empty; my stomach was beginning to growl and I had an overwhelming desire for Chinese.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright laws.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Despite actually getting a decent night’s rest, I felt groggier than usual in as I stood from my bed.  Sleep had become a foreign concept to my body and the hours of inactivity I had subjected it to were taking their toll on me.  I didn’t mind, though—I would surely feel better as the day progressed, not lost in a lethargic state of existence as I had been for more than a month.

I shuffled lazily to the bathroom and stared into the soulless eyes of my reflection—they looked as tired as I felt.  Oh, if only it were Saturday, I mused.  I managed to pull my toothbrush from the cup inside my medicine cabinet; I brushed my teeth as I disrobed and stepped into the shower.

I arrived at the office at 8:53—seven minutes early, technically, but late by everyone else’s standards.

I walked to the kitchen, which was to the right of the entrance, for a cup of coffee.  Alice, one of the programmers who recently took up the mantle of sound designer when we started working on mobile games, was standing next to the coffee maker.  “Spend the night in Hell?” she asked.

“Just didn’t have time to put on my makeup,” I joked as I reached for the coffee pot.  “What does Matt have you working on today?”

Matt Butler owned the company.  “Ambitious, but reckless and ignorant” is how he is best described.  He came into some money and started the business without any real plan to speak of; it was only through his failures and the advice of his employees that he was able to recoup some of the losses incurred.

“Squashing bugs,” she replied.  “You?”

“I’ve been keeping busy building a prototype for another game—it’s about time we moved onto something new.  I may have some sound work for you if you get too bored with debugging.”

“Could be a nice distraction; let me know what you want.”

“Will do.”

I nodded at her as I walked toward my workstation at the back of the office.  Matt was sitting in my chair with his eyes fixed on my monitor.  I set my coffee on the desk in front of him, but his eyes remained fixed.

“What’s this?” he asked with his hand outstretched while moving his arm in a circular motion to encompass the entire screen?

I peered over his shoulder and snidely quipped, “Looks like code.”

He cocked his head and finally broke his gaze with my jesting remark.  “Thank you,” he stated in an equally sarcastic tone.  “What’s the code for?”

“I’m working on a prototype for a new game—I sent you an email.”

“When?”  Before I could respond, he interjected, “I haven’t checked my email.  Why aren’t you working on updates for that racing game—expansions and whatever the hell it is people put in updates for mobile games?”

“Well, Mudd-Runn has pretty much run its course—it’s been buried by new software on the marketplace and downloads are down to a fraction of what we launched at.  Focusing resources on additional content wouldn’t be ‘fiscally responsible’ at this time.  We need to introduce a new product to see if we can get some more money flowing through here—I explained this in my email.”

He stared at me for a few moments—an obvious displeasure with my condescending tone was written on his face.  “Well, I wish you would have told me—when will you have something to show us?”

“This afternoon,” I lied, but I knew he wouldn’t organize a meeting until Friday at the earliest—the lie promoted an image of efficiency.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calendar before responding.  “I’m not going to be in the office tomorrow,” he paused.  “I’ll set up a meeting for Friday before noon.”

“Sounds good.”  I pointed at my chair, “Mind if I…?”

He stood up at the gesture and gave me a nod as he walked away.  I sighed and sat down.

I stared at the code on my display for several minutes while I sipped on my coffee.  Black—was never fond of sweetener in my coffee.  Hot and bitter.  It helped me think.  The code, to someone unfamiliar, would seem like a broken string of random, imaginary words—to me, they were building blocks.  I was creating something; my fingers on the keyboard breathed life into the dust of my imagination with the help of those strings of random, imaginary words.

I set down my cup and placed my hands on the keyboard—this was my domain, a world of my own making.  I was in control.

My fingers clacked against the keys as I translated my idea to code—a long, tedious process, but one that always felt rewarding in the end.  I paused infrequently only to build the program to see if all the components were working together nicely—they weren’t.

The visual assets I was using were leftovers from Mudd-Runn, the poorly named physics-based racer to which I owed my current employment.  Alice was the one who suggested we switch to mobile game development, which turned out to be a smart move.  Despite breathing new life into the company and saving it from collapse, her idea didn’t benefit her in any way—more work at the same pay.  She loved her job, though, so she didn’t mind.

I ran the code again.  A crude collage of images not intended for my prototype filled the display of my phone.  After a few minutes on the controls, it seemed that character navigation was finally working properly—one of many things I needed to get down for Friday’s presentation.

As I distracted myself with the early prototype running on my phone, I heard a voice pull me back down to reality.  “Hey, Tom, busy?”

I looked up to see Alice standing at the corner of my desk.  “No, not really.  Why?”

“Have any plans for lunch?”

I looked up at the clock on my monitor and was surprised to see it was already 12:17.  “No—was just going to go grab some fast food or something.  Why?”

“Want to grab some Chinese?”

I was always in the mood for Chinese; I nodded as I logged off of my workstation.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Night 1—Tuesday:

The woman from the television was kneeling in front of me with her mouth just inches away from my ear; she kept repeating, “You are dreaming.  You can fly.”  Her words were hypnotizing and I could feel myself drifting into a fantasy.  I felt a strong gust of wind and my stomach drop in the same way it does when a plane takes off—I felt as though I was truly flying.  The world around me began to sink out of sight, yet I remained on solid ground.  I looked around and could see nothing other than the blue sky which seemed to be swallowing me.

The ground beneath me came to a sudden end just fifteen feet away from where I was kneeling.  I knew where I was—atop the building.  She had brought me back to the vision in which I had found myself earlier—the dream which had become so familiar to me.  I knew what this was—I knew what her words meant.

I stood, and, as I stood, her words kept repeating in my mind, “You are dreaming.  You can fly.”  Over and over, she spoke; her words seemed to grow louder with each repetition.  I walked forward; with each step, her voice grew louder.  I peered over the edge of the building to see that the world below appeared so seemingly insignificant from this height; her words still grew louder.  As I stood staring at the familiar world around me, she was no longer just speaking to me.  No, she was shouting.

A thousand feet below me was the abrupt awakening that ruined fifty nights’ rests.  I had always been terrified of heights and my recurring nightmare did nothing to help that phobia.  I stood at the edge of that building dozens of times before paralyzed in my fear, but this time was different.  Though the voice of the woman was unpleasantly loud, it was somewhat comforting.  I knew where I was.  I knew that this world was one of my own making.  I was in control.

Slowly, her words became my words—her voice, my voice.  The world quieted and soon all I could hear was my inner voice telling me, I am dreaming.  I can fly.  I can fly.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  I could feel a confidence that was absent when I had found myself in this very position.  Tonight, I thought, I will not fall.  Tonight, I will fly.  I extended my leg over the edge and

Day 2—Wednesday:

My alarm sounded with a jarring intensity.  I looked over at the clock which had an illuminated “7:15” on its face.  I sighed softly at the thought of not overcoming my nightmare, but this was the first good sleep I had in weeks.  I kicked off my blankets and rolled out of bed to prepare for work.

To be continued… 

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

I inhaled one last deep breath and the world around me began to shift and drip like wet paint on a canvas beneath the artful strokes of a master.  The sandy beach stretched out beyond my line of sight and each grain melded with the next to form pavement beneath my feet.  The waves out on the ocean began to stand up and harden as crude monoliths before their outer shells cracked open to reveal towering skyscrapers hidden underneath; the remnants that came crashing to the ground became cars and people that hurried about as if they had purposes.

I was asleep in a scene that was all too familiar to me—a scene that painted itself before me in a way I had never seen before.  I was asleep and I knew I was dreaming; I felt comfort in that thought.  I looked around at the world in which I found myself and observed it very carefully.  I tried to pick up on the small details I never noticed before with the hope that maybe I would find something relevant.

I stood under the green awning of a hotel on the corner of Washington and 3^rd.  I scanned the area surrounding me to see if anything looked familiar beyond the confines of my recurring fantasy.  I saw the building where my office was located about three blocks south—or what I assumed to be south due to the increasing street numbers—of where I was standing.  I walked toward it.

As I made my way toward my office, I kept searching busily for the building—the one I fell from every night.  Despite the broken logic of dreams, I knew there had to be a reason I found myself on that ledge every night.  I knew there was a reason I fell.

I closed my eyes to escape from the distractions of the busy world around me and tried to remember.  The building was tall—taller than any other around it.  I was lost in a world of imagined skyscrapers and I was looking for a tall building.  Lovely, I thought.

I took a deep breath and looked to the sky; it was grey.  There was no sun and the wind started to blow heavily as rain began to fall.  This is new, I mused.  I don’t remember rain.

The sudden crack of thunder woke me from my dream’s novel alteration.  The clock beside me read “12:17.”  I had been asleep for more than an hour, which was an improvement, but I’m sure it could have been even better without Lucidity’s soothing sounds of thunder.

Day 2—Wednesday:

I lay in bed with my eyes closed for what felt like an eternity after that.  I couldn’t sleep.  I even started the cursed CD over and I still couldn’t sleep.  My mind was at odds with my body and after—Five minutes?  It’s only been five minutes?  I decided it was time to occupy myself with something other than darkness and Lucidity.

I walked out to my living room and collapsed on the couch.  The television remote was still on the armrest, Convenient.  There was little more than nothing on television, however, and I quickly found myself switching between “Paid Programming” and dead air.  The thought of getting up and popping in a movie more than once made its way to my mind, but I was tired and that sounded like too much work.

I decided to finally settle for the hypnotic sounds of static—at least until they motivated me to put in something actually worth watching.  The room was illuminated as the television flickered with dancing digital “snow”; I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

With my eyes locked on the television, I could feel my breathing slow.  I could hear the sound of static growing softer.  I could see the light of the television growing dimmer.  The room around me was swallowed in darkness and, for a moment, the world stopped—but only for a moment.

I inhaled deeply and let out a sigh as I opened my eyes again to be greeted by the flashing lights of indecisive pixels.  The sound of static still accompanied the luminous visual noise on screen.

I sat up and rested my head in my hands for a few seconds while the television carried on about its business in the background.  I was running on empty and there wasn’t a thing I could do to get back to sleep.

I sighed heavily and reaffixed my gaze to the television.  A woman looked back at me; her stare was intense but comforting.

I stood and walked toward the television as she extended her arm beyond the screen.  I knelt down in front of her, completely oblivious that I was no longer in my living room; she bent down and whispered in my ear, “You are dreaming.  You can fly.”

To be continued… 

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.