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.