Dream Seam

The darkness hovered over Jean like a black hole from the void. She couldn't move; she couldn't breathe. Invisible sweat trickled down her forehead, the feeling spreading over her as oxygen perspired through her skin like the wind on a cool summer's day. She shivered and tried to relax as time stood still and hour hands marched in her mind.

As she stared above, black tendrils flickered out from the darkness like tongues from the serpents of beyond. Lights flickered on and off in her eyes, only visible to her mind, which lay deep within their darkened abyss. For years she had lain there, staring at the darkness as it taunted her like a memory from beyond time itself, looking for signs of life to be found in the body that gave no reply, lying there like an inanimate statue of God's grace upon the stormy sea below.

A sea which lay beneath her soul, carrying her forward through time eternal toward room upon room of her imagination. She saw the distant figure of a young woman, herself, cleaning their apartment out of the corner of her eye; a young, tall, black-haired woman in a dressing gown, visible in a mirror that reflected her essence in the light of the full moon.

She had makeup on and looked composed, though tears fell down her face in steady streams like a calm spring in the forest; tears she felt that could not be seen, not by any waking eyes. A prying glimpse from the darkness distracted her. She stared at it as it stared back at her. Glimpses of childhood, long forgotten. A vague sense of belonging she could not shake.

Jean woke up with a start as the dream shattered and the true nightmare began: her waking day. She stared at the alarm clock as it beeped in the affirmative, taunting her with red digits like middle fingers in her widening vision, still freshly woken from the distant dreamland of the vast beyond which she often called her home.

She looked on the bedside cabinet for her black Moleskine notebook, a beautiful object gifted to her by her husband many years ago when they were still together. It, like him, was a distant memory of an immaterial dreamland of infinite possibilities, now cut short by a dreary reality whose only escape lay when her eyes closed and the land of nod beckoned.

Jean noted down her dream in the notebook and closed it again, memories of loving mornings spent in bed taunting her as she made the first of many coffees that would see her through the day. She drank down the stark, brown mixture and almost immediately felt the electric caffeine sparkling through her body, lightning bolts striking frayed nerves with grasps of possibility as the TV blared nearby: more news from various parts of the world which she paid little attention to, save for the occasional eye roll and eyebrow wiggle.

She played this dance, as was her custom, each morning before heading towards her dreary, monotone work of many a long year, its vast, steel structure enveloping her like a metallic nightmare of intrigue and dark suspense; dark dealings in vast corporate hallways casting a shadow-like murk around the place. High-paid layers sat in offices of well-to-do law practices, practicing their secret trade in ancient languages of modern invention; their striations left in the recent dust of a contemporary art studio covered in fake dollar bills and wanton cruelty.

Jean stared at her computer screen, waiting for inspiration to strike as the clock's hammer stroke signaled the start of the working day. More hours of turgid revolution as the wheels of fate whirled around in her head, the cogs of creation turning as fantastic worlds opened up within them. She saw the woman again in the corner of her eye, still cleaning as the makeup smeared down her face, the worn folds of time more prominent as sunbeams danced before her.

She was snapped out of this reverie by a sudden demand from a co-worker, which she met with typical efficiency. She spoke little and was fluent in the language of action; a flurry of activity from her co-workers work station drew her attention: somebody was having an argument, and she wanted no part of it, returning to the monotony of the task before her instead, the clock hands turning in her eyes like cogs in the machine before it was home time again.

Jean returned home in silent fashion, eating what little dinner she had, preferring to keep it simple and to the point before returning to her bed to lie down in her customary position for her daily meditation practice, which usually lasted an hour. She saw many things during that time: past deeds, misdeeds, and all in-between like a monotony of servitude in the dull life of the rain's soft embrace; a deluge of memories that swirled around her head like a whirlpool until she saw it again: the darkness above.

She poured herself a coffee in the land of make-believe and stared down at the notebook. Its smooth edges called to her, and she began writing, vivid dreams of yesteryear forming themselves on the pages as animated scenes played on the white pages. A lone maiden danced in fields of gold as the sun sank on the horizon. Dragon's swirled up above as the beginnings of a rainbow could be seen emerging in the distance.

Lone ships sailed on the seas of pages worn by a thousand strikes of the inks nub; adventures written on trees that sprouted their fertile seeds into the minds of those who read them - willing recipients from other realms who delivered insight to those eager for a taste of life on Earth.

She wrote and wrote, vast adventures swirling around her like a cinema show on steroids, holograms transforming the space into an adventure theatre as cartoons flowed in and out of vision. She felt the euphoria as dreams flowed into reality's reach, only for the darkness to subside and the bed to form itself beneath her.

No alarm this time though, as the notebook gleamed in the darkness with a light so seductive she knew it wasn't real; the world of dreams still calling to her through the thinning veil that quickly disappeared as movement drew her forward, animating her like a puppet of her own making as the pen was put to paper and she detailed the experience of the night before.

The following days marched on much like the ones before them. Dull notes in the calendar year of legal deliberations, endless lawsuits, and other activities designed to please the rich and their fancies. Materialism in action. Worlds exploding, imploding, created, and expanded to accommodate each client's needs for a better grasp of resources ready for the scrapheap at a moment's notice should calamity befall them.

Other days they would be mountains of gold, glimmering in the artificial daylight of a thousand diamond merchants as they measured them for residency in the merchant halls of past, present, and future. She trundled on in this way, the clock hands turning in her eyes as they went blind to the manuscripts before them, only turning inward for the vision of things made real in a magnificent dreamland of clarity and illumination.

Jean created her kingdom from the notebook every time she opened it, new worlds opening as myriads of creatures greeted her to whisk her off to dimensions of proportions unimaginable to the human eye. Chortle, her pet Dragon, whisked her to the castle being built by hands of many voices as their vibrations sculpted it to a polished sheen. She gazed out at the vast lands of text-born wizards, citizens, and creatures who teemed under a distant fun full of possibility and wonder.

Sipping her tea, she looked at the notebook, the portal stretched out before her. The maiden was now replaced by the cleaner from before. She was bathed in golden light as worn makeup disappeared in a flash, eyes gleaming as she polished surfaces that danced like sparkling diamonds, shining with the radiance of a thousand suns as she gazed up to meet herself.

Jean felt the bed again, the tendrils disappearing into the darkness as the notebook gleamed, waiting for her to put pen to paper. She would craft a new world from these musings, using the memories of the dreams to illuminate the novel that was now writing itself, the world of dreams being her playground to test out adventures of new wonder and possibility. A vast tapestry of the kingdom's born, more to rise, and more to fall as she experimented in the sandbox of infinite imagination.

She gazed at a young woman staring up at her from one of the pages, the world of dreams yet to shed its last embrace as the two smiled at each other. Her eyes were radiant in sunlight which shone up from the page, embracing her in its golden light. Jean smiled back, the woman now fading as words glittered like gold in the dark, lighting her face as she felt the cool breeze from the dream depart like a smooth caress on a summer's day.

All was quiet again in the room as dreamland departed, the portal in the notebook closing its doors as faint glimmers of sunlight crept in from the emerging dawn outside. Jean opened the curtains to hear the morning doves calling, mourning the dream which yearned to be opened again, but only when works demands could be satisfied.

She opened the window, letting the breeze brush her face, hopeful feelings emerging from within as new worlds lay before her. Grabbing the notebook, she went to the typewriter she kept on her desk and felt adventure, her old friend of many years, reaching out to her. She held its hand and began the embrace, letting words flow like dreams of musical orchestration as her eyes colored the pages of the new novel in progress.

Jean had booked the week off work and would let lightning strike day and night if needed. She had work to do and would not think of anything bar the flood of worlds emerging onto the paper, which vibrated with each heavy hit of the keys. She saw her kingdom's form as the newly triumphant citizens marched in armies of hope, sirens blaring and lightning striking in new lands of creation.

Her eyes were lit, her hopes were kindled, as she, the creator of this newly formed world, weaved loving tales waiting to be told. A week later, she returned to work and continued the monotony of her previous tasks. As she did so, her boss called her into his office. She was to be fired, the company was restructuring. No hard feelings, he hoped - $20,000 severance pay should cover it.

Jean nodded, departed, and returned to her novel and the world of dreams. No other job lay on the horizon, but she cared not. She had her newly formed world, and that's all that mattered. The void called again. Visions awaited, and the tendrils laid out their loving embrace for light to be created once more.