Stuck in Time

Some people say dreams are our brain’s way of deleting unwanted information. Others claim they are portals to the soul, or alternative lives that we only get to see while we sleep. However, there is one thing that all people agree upon. Nightmares are best when avoided.

Miles finds himself in a stuffy room lit by floor lamps. There are stock photos of mountains and waterfalls, and books stuffed into shelves in ways that don’t quite make sense. He’s laying on a stereotypically red sofa with curved arms made of some wood he admires but has no idea what it’s called. Sitting across from him, in a matching chair, is Dr. Reed. His therapist.

“Let me see if I understand,” starts Dr. Reed, “You can’t seem to tell your dreams and reality apart anymore?”

Miles nods, “Exactly, but my dreams are always nightmares, and I never know what will hurt me next.”

Dr. Reed scribbles into his legal pad, “That’s perfectly normal for someone who has experienced the trauma you have had. Your childhood was a constant state of flight or fight. If I remember correctly, you would transition between conscious and unconsciousness like a switch to protect yourself from the nightmare that was your life.”

Miles pinched his palm until blood filled the crack between his nail and skin. Still awake, he thought, “Right. That all makes sense to me, but why am I still dipping in and out? I’m not in that situation anymore?”

Dr. Reed opened his mouth to speak but instead of words coming out it was the whirring of tape being rewound in a VHS. The walls started to blur and all Dr. Reed’s decorations faded, and were replaced with empty Polaroids. Once all the walls were filled, Miles’s sofa vanished and he fell to the floor with a thud. Dr. Reed was gone, and the wall that had Miles’s exit a few moments ago only had a large flat screen on it with a cable running down to the floor where it was connected to an old Sony VCR. The tape within was still rewinding.

Miles stood up and looked around. How did he dip into unconsciousness? He had just made himself bleed. He looked at his nail and saw that the blood was still there, slowly crusting. He started tapping his thumb across his fingers as he worked on controlling his breathing. “You are dreaming,” he whispered, “Breathe. You are safe at Dr. Reed’s office. He is watching over you. You are safe… You… Are… Safe.”

CLICK

The VHS finished rewinding, and the TV blinked to life. Staring at Miles from within the screen was a hideous figure. It was in a room that looked like Miles’s, but Miles was nowhere to be found. Its skin was as white as glue, and dripped in an eerily similar fashion. Miles shivered as the creature peered into his soul. There were no eyes, no nose, ears, or mouth, but he could feel it consume his scent, the thrumming of his heart, the roughness of his goosebumps, and the taste of his sweat. When Miles looked closer, he could see his own face reflecting back through the creature’s blank one. Was he this monster? Stuck to this realm like the substance its body was made out of?

“Stop!” Yelled Miles, “This is your mind trying to protect you from what you don’t understand. Ground yourself. Focus on your head and release, now to the shoulders and arms, waist, legs, and toes. You are safe. Breathe.”

Nothing changed, and the creature still stared. Miles rubbed his eyes, and the creature moved. Its hands, which had pencil-like fingers, were laid flat against the screen. In the palm of those hands were screens that repeated the scene until the image became so small that Miles couldn’t see it. He could feel the panic grip his chest. The air was heavy, and his sweat became cool and clingy. His head felt like it weighed twelve tons and he staggered.

“Help,” he croaked, “Help me, please.”

Then, as if by some miracle, a mechanical voice spoke, “Take one of the photos, Miles.”

Photos? Thought Miles. He had forgotten all about the Polaroids hanging around him. Before they were blank, but now they all had faces of people he had once known. He could hear their voices merge and the images reel back in a fit of laughter. Miles wrapped his fingers around his hair and pulled until cool tears dripped down his cheeks.

“Grab a photo, Miles,” repeated the mechanical voice.

Miles obeyed. He always obeyed. It was safe. People usually didn’t punish you when you obeyed. He shuffled his way to the closest photo, and saw the woman that claimed to be his mom staring back at him. She looked like Miles, or rather, Miles looked like her. Same black hair, same ski slope nose, and same green eyes. Once in his hands, the image of his mom no longer laughed. Now she was staring at him with indifference. A look she wore often around him, and the misery he endured.

Upon taking this photo from the wall, the room shifted again. Now he found himself in his childhood room. Its white walls were littered with holes, and the door frame had the door removed. It was a portal peering into the living room where his dad was currently teaching his mom a lesson. He could feel the scratchy thread of his quilt and tugged it over his head.

“You better be watching this, Pansy!” Screamed Miles’s dad, “This is gonna happen to you too if you don’t toughen up and stand up for yourself!”

Even though his view was obstructed by his quilt, each strike made Miles flinch. It was like a symphony of pain as each lash fell upon his mother. He would count each beat, waiting for his solo when she repeated everything on him. When that happened, or anytime something bad happened to Miles, his mom would stare at him with the same face she had in the photo that was now crumpled in his hand.

She reminded him of a robot. Oblivious to all pain, and performed any action on command. Perhaps she and he weren’t that different? An obedient machine never wins praise, but it never gets smacked either. At least, that’s how it usually went. With his family, one inconvenience turned into an excuse to hit someone. Miles hated this, but what could he do, he was just a kid. He knew no better. Didn’t everyone get beaten this way? And at least when his mom did it, she was just performing her duties. She would perform her actions as if she were smacking the wrinkles out of a shirt, or beating the cable box until the signal came back. During these “lessons” from his mom, his dad would watch and laugh.

“Hurt people hurt people, kiddo.” He would say, “Better learn how to make it stop before someone learns how to stop you.”

Miles trembled every time his dad delivered that line. He knew how to make it stop, but Miles didn’t want to pay the price to make it happen. Surely there had to be another way? Then came the footsteps.

Thunk… thunk… thunk…

Miles started to hyperventilate. “Help me.” he whispered, but no help came. The footsteps grew louder, and Miles knew his dad was standing in the door frame. It had been thirteen steps. It always took thirteen steps for his dad to get to his door. If his dad caught him with his covers on, he’d beat him even harder.

With shaking hands, Miles removed his quilt. But instead of his father standing in the door frame, it was that creature again. This time far more menacing than it had been when it was behind a screen. It was much taller than Miles had imagined. Its large frame had to bend in half just for its faceless head to peer in at him. Its massive arms, draped behind it as it walked, left tiny splotches of its body like droplets of glue beading underneath a page as it inched closer to him. Once the creature was in his room, his TV sprang to life and the scene he was living was once again played on the TV. He stared at this screen, hoping that the digitized version would allow him to escape.

This didn’t happen. Instead, the creature used its hands to grab Miles by the throat and lift him off the mattress. It then put its face so close to Miles’s that he could feel the heat of his own breath bouncing back onto his own face. Then the creature started shoving itself into Miles’s mouth. He gagged, and struggled to try and break free but he couldn’t. The creature’s grip was too strong and all Miles could taste was plastic. He tried to scream but his lungs gurgled as the creature merged with him until all he could see was white.

Then there was nothing. No feeling, no smells or tastes, nothing to hear, nor see, but the expansive wall of white. Then the splotches of red came. They were quick and messy, and every time one filled his view he could taste bile.

Am I dying? Thought Miles. Is this what happens when you no longer exist? Did I finally make it stop? But then the screams came, and the red splotches covered bodies instead of white walls. He looked down at his long, pencil-like, fingers and saw the tips dipped in red. Was he the monster now? His father’s words echoed around him, “Make it stop before someone learns how to stop you!”

Miles tried hitting himself to stop the voice, but his new body wouldn’t listen. Bodies crumbled, faces blended, and blood pooled as his massacre continued. “This isn’t me.” He wheezed. “I wanted to prevent this. I wanted to be good.”

“You are good, Miles,” replied Dr. Reed.

Miles shook his head. He was now standing in Dr. Reed’s office again. Photographs of Miles's family were splayed across the table in front of Dr. Reed, along with some VHS tapes, and a peculiar bottle of glue.

“I lost you there for a second. We were going over these trinkets and your mind wandered. Does this happen often Miles? This day dreaming?”

“But there was blood,” babbled Miles.

Dr. Reed lifted the box of tissues beside him and answered, “It was only a nosebleed. Those happen a lot for you. Did you ever go visit the doctor like I asked?”

Miles sat back down on the sofa and rubbed his head. Had he daydreamed? He could have sworn he only had nightmares at night? Was he getting worse? “No. Sorry, Dr. Reed. I tend to miss appointments because I… oversleep…” Miles looked back up at Dr. Reed but saw the monster sitting in front of him instead. The empty face was gone and now it was his own. It smiled menacingly at him.

Not wanting to return to the nightmare of being the monster, Miles flipped the table in front of him and sprinted for the door. All the table's contents stuck to the creature and it screamed in anger as it tried to peel everything off.

Walking through the door rerouted him back to Dr. Reed’s office. Dr. Reed was once again there and he looked worried. “I was about to come check on you. Your quick restroom break turned into nearly half of our session. What happened in there? Did you fall asleep?”

Miles once again shuffled his way back to the sofa, “Am I really awake?”

Dr. Reed pointed at something behind Miles’s head and said, “Do you see that clock? If you can tell the time then you are awake.”

Miles turned around and saw that it was 2:30 p.m. He was awake. His whole body sunk into itself as he relaxed. He looked at his finger once again and saw the crusted blood flaking off. How much of the past few minutes were real? He thought.

“Good, it looks like you have calmed down now.” replied Dr. Reed, “Is there anything else in your life that calms you down?”

Laying back on the sofa, Miles stared at the panels in the ceiling and said, “Movie theaters make me feel safe.”

“And why’s that, Miles?”

“Because every time I was at a theater, I got something to eat and drink, I knew I wasn’t going to be beaten or yelled at, and for a few hours I could go to whatever world I wanted. I could be whatever I wanted to be and nothing could stop me. I was no longer Miles. I was the hero, the friend, I was the one who found love, who accepted love. My perception was being directed for me, and I could be the watcher instead of the victim.”

Dr. Reed nodded, “But you are replacing one reality for another while leaving your current one behind? How is that any different than your constant dreaming?”

“The good guy always lives in the end Dr. Reed. My story could end at any time, and I have no idea who or what will end it. I also don't know if I will be the hero or villain of my story. With movies, I know exactly how it will end.”

Dr. Reed jotted down some more notes and said, “I think that’s enough for this session, Miles.” He then pulls out a small box and hands it to Miles. “I saw this and thought it might help with your problem. Miles took the box, and opened it to find a black Casio watch inside. “I figured if you wear that, any time you think you are dreaming you can check your wrist. If you don’t see a watch, or the time on it can’t be read, then you are dreaming. If you can plainly see it, then you are awake. Try using that to ground you this week and let me know how it works. Once we get this dream thing settled, then maybe we can unpack the trauma that put you in this position in the first place.”

Miles fastened the watch to his left wrist and got up to leave, “Thank you Dr. Reed. I hope you have a good week.”

As he walked out the door, reality shifted. He was now sitting in the back row of a movie theater. The lights were off and he was completely alone. The projector shined through the wall behind him, illuminating the dust as it floated in the air. The screen itself was blank, except for the yellow square of light that projected on to it.

Miles lifted his left wrist and saw the watch Dr. Reed had given him. The time read 3:00 a.m. He had no idea how he got here, nor why he was here alone, but he felt safe. He propped his feet onto the seat in front of him, and let himself doze to sleep as whatever movie was in the projector started to play.