Chapter One—Whispering Dreams

              Something strange flew out of unlimited blue,

              Moulding the psyche into something new,

              Unshackling beliefs, one within one, two little men grew...

Startled eyes burst open. Pupils contracted adjusting to the white glow flooding the room. Releasing a subtle groan he studied the odd yellow patterns on the floor created by the linear beams of light which had evaded the drapes. Billions of tiny specks from an assorted spectrum of matter floated along the length of this light. Moved by invisible air currents the miniature globules fluttered with chaotic motion.

Then the images rushed back, parading themselves before his inner eye, forcing him to recollect the dream and the maniacal screaming which had dragged him out of sleep. He could still feel her emotions as though they were a part of him. Impressions imparted by the dream held such strength that his baffled mind struggled to remember his own personality.

“Mina,” he whispered. His mind registered the name as if it was his and not that of a stranger’s. To utter a name, so different from the one assigned at birth and to believe the name was his induced a cloudy dichotomy within him. It was as though an axe had cleaved him into two and he had existed in two realties but as one consciousness. He had owned more than her name. He let out a harsh breath and muttered, “I was her...”

He had experienced her life as though it was his; her thoughts, feelings, beliefs, all of it had been temporarily his. Her identity eluded him for he had never seen a face resembling hers but within the frames of the dream he had been without doubt Mina.

It was remarkable the manner in which the mind absorbed personas and perceptions it encountered in dreams as though the events had actually transpired. Never before had he dreamt with such vivid detail. He was no stranger to dreams but this twisted vision had left him with a feeling of unease as well as a lingering kinship for the unknown woman.

The cell-phone buzzed. The garish vibration of the thin black device propelled it forward and it moved like a living organism against the cold steel of the night stand. Dread permeated him as he reached for it. He half-wished the hum would die away before he touched the machine. The sound of a telephone ringing never failed to fill him with nervous energy...a childhood phobia the subconscious had transported into the adult self.

“Hell!” He cursed viewing the time along with the identity of the caller. He was late. The memories of the dream were cast aside. “Good morning Kurt.”

“You’re late Blaz,” said the cold voice, slicing away perfunctory niceties. “Are you even coming in?”

“I am,” he said, struggling to concoct an excuse. “I wasn’t well last night. I overdid the medications.”

“That’s a new one. You mean to say you overslept,” Kurt snapped back. “Would you be kind enough to remind me if it’s my duty or yours to inform me when you’re going to be late?”

I’m not a child! Anger simmered within him like broth upon a stove. Screw you! The bitter retort awaited release from the tip of his tongue like an arrow waiting to fly from a strung bow. He held back, a confrontation so early in the morning was unnecessary. “I’m sorry Kurt. It won’t happen again. I’ll be at work in half an hour.”

“Hmm.” An abrupt click followed.

He lowered the device. Kurt Wilen headed the research team. Kurt owned the label of being the brains of the team. The man’s genius was rumoured to be unmatched and without Kurt’s guidance the team would crumble...Or so they say.

Well Kurt was a bitch. He hurled the device onto the bed. His bleak eyes stared into the emptiness of the room. Besides the bed and the night stand, the room was devoid of furniture. The white drapes matched the sterile white walls lending an ethereal radiance to the space. The original hues of the walls had been a startling emerald. A distracting colour, a colour he could live without and so he had concealed one shade with another more appeasing to his palate.

Stifling a yawn, he pushed himself up. The mere notion of reporting to work had already begun to push him into a state of lacklustre despondency. Struggling against the urge to tumble back into bed, he padded into the hall which, akin to his bedroom, was as sparsely furnished. A solitary beige divan stood marooned at the centre of the white room, almost awkward in its solitude. In front of it lay a large television and far across the room were a couple of black leather chairs which he had purchased on a whimsical spree when he had first joined the company two years ago.

 The whimsy had ended there. He cared little for objects and even less for embellishment. Possessions tied people down. Owning a plethora of objects was too much of a commitment and empty spaces encouraged contemplation...so he believed.

Swinging the refrigerator open he grabbed the remnants of the previous night’s meal. Munching into the near soggy sandwich, he stood motionless, his eyes hazy. He thought of work and his misery grew. He had nothing to look forward to but monotony. Days had begun to fuse like thin sheets of steel welded together into an undistinguishable blur of congealed events. Remarkable incidents never punctuated his life. Always nothing followed by nothing. He was festering. He was a decaying plank of wood rotting from the inside.

With each empty day that journeyed past him the black cavity’s embrace tightened its hold, suffocating him. In the stillness of the night, when worldly distractions lost efficacy, it was in those cold nauseating moments that he was certain his soul harboured a dark worm, a worm which feasted upon his contentment. In the deep silence, he could hear its jaws gnawing and gnawing.

Abundant were the nights when he waited long hours for sleep to drug him into oblivion. Sleep furnished respite from the droning mind which with boundless self-automated vigour spewed out thought after thought. On most nights, sleep was keen on procrastinating its descent into him. The wait for the transient amnesia left him tossing in frustration. The mind acquired gratification in re-enacting the past and in creating incalculable future scenarios. Unable to distinguish between fabrication and actuality his mind relived each possible outcome as though it were reality. He could never staunch the flow of the demented mental monologue. Only when the cruel beast had leisurely dipped into every imaginable future...only when it had appeased its ravenous appetite then would it permit him to slither into exhausted sleep.

Yes, he was decaying and somehow today more than any other day the fangs of the worm grated into his core with enhanced zeal. In the midst of this introspection, his gaze fell on the face of the clock.

Gasping, he crammed down the remaining bits of folded bread and raced to get ready. Tackling with the necessary, he sprinted out of the apartment. The wait for the elevator which was on the fourteenth floor, one above him, halted his descent. He was the solitary inhabitant of the floor. Thirteen was an unlucky number it was said...well for him, it held no connotations.

“Good morning Mr Kruger,” called the parking attendant as he stepped out into the basement. Tilting his head, he nodded in hurried response as he strode towards his car. Getting in he wondered how the boy could be in such effervescent spirits, almost as though the boy adored being an attendant.

The joy...or the facade of joy the boy displayed heightened the despair buried within him. Curious are the workings of the human mind. Sometimes an encounter with depression either in the environment or a fellow human works to alleviate the misery of a wretched soul. Why? Because then in comparison one’s distress owned pales and becomes lighter to bear. But if joy is encountered? One plunges deeper into agony.

His brows furrowed in worry. The drive to the office took fifteen minutes but erratic traffic could sometimes increase the commute to over an hour. Perhaps, I’ll be lucky. Well something would have to guide his path or else he would never arrive on time. The cell-phone rang, startling him. Kurt again. What more could the carnivore want?

For a moment he stared at the screen as temptation to reject the call grew strong but he resisted. The sooner one enters the storm, the sooner one leaves it behind. “Yes Kurt?” he asked, fighting to keep the edge of frustration away from his voice.

“We have an issue.” Kurt’s tone was cold. “The minutes for yesterday’s meeting, the one carried out by you hasn’t been submitted. You were supposed to do it last evening.”

The multiple emphasis on the word ‘you’ did not escape Blaz. “Kurt as yo—” Temptation revisited him again, perhaps he could stress on the offending word but thwarting its beckoning he carried on. “As you will recall, last evening the entire team had to sit in till half past nine.” A move which had been beyond pointless. “So I thought it would be acceptable to do it today.”

“No,” said the blunt voice. “This isn’t the way to deal with such crucial matters. The minutes should’ve been submitted last evening. Rules can’t be bent.”

Holding down the tempest brewing inside of him, Blaz wondered how Kurt had acquired the ceaseless ability to morph drops of water into raging rainstorms. The minutes in contention were not worth considering.

Blaz twisted his mouth in anger. A second apology was the exclusive path of unnecessary redemption. “I’m sorry Kurt,” he muttered. “I’ll do it the moment I’m in.” Then he added the pleaser phrase. “I’ll make certain the incident isn’t repeated.”

“Good.” Kurt disconnected.

Blaz drew in a deep breath. The ‘issue’ could have waited until he had reached the office. Tainted by the admonition, he pushed aside the mounting annoyance. It was too early to let Kurt ruin the day. He focused on the street ahead.

Diam could sometimes turn into an absolute nightmare when it came to its congested streets rife with hooting horns and endless altercations. But today the scanty smattering of vehicles could scarcely be classified as traffic. A wry smile emerged on his face. Something was on his side, if conditions held he could be at work in no more than ten minutes.

Approaching the bridge which linked the two halves of the city to each other, he leaned forward over the wheel, to peer up at a large signboard adorning the archway of the entrance to the bridge.

“Diam deserves less litter!” it proclaimed. The once bright green lettering had peeled away and the white background had darkened to grey. His interest lay not in the message but in the board itself. In the first week of his arrival in the city, he had seen the workmen welding the board into place. As time passed, it became an integral part of his schedule to gaze at it every time he drove past. It was a milestone of sorts, a marker for the length of his stay in the city.

He monitored its daily devolution with ever anxious eyes; in the beginning, it had been a different board, clean, white, bursting with optimistic assurance in its ability to alter the commuters racing beneath it. Two years later it was but a dejected remnant of its former self. The signboard had failed in its purpose, its grubby surface nothing more than a parody to its existence. No one cared to read the message it strove to deliver, no one ever looked up. The board, well, it was a reminder of himself.

He had moved into Diam, eagerly clutching a brand new job, seeking another chance at a new life in a new city with new faces and new beginnings. Nothing changed. On the contrary he had sunk deeper into limbo. On the reel of life there were no rewinds to be had, even an infinite number of relocations could not give him the re-start he so desired and required. Re-start through relocation was as futile as a piece of graphite seeking to change into sparkling carbon via action of movement. An impossibility. Graphite shifts into superior material through the right chemistry of excessive heat and pressure. Unless there was some sort of similar transformation within the self there would be no regeneration. All that was new spiralled into the old. After the initial glitter faded, the new was no different from the old. Yes, he was the board. And we’re both stagnating, ageing and peeling away.

As he passed over the bridge, bitter hatred filled him. Damn I hate this place! No—that was a lie. It’s not the city, it’s me. Diam was tolerable enough, for cities no different from their mammalian inhabitants own specific dispositions; some tend to race forward ever ready to embrace the new, the novel. Others hold back refusing to relinquish old moulds, clinging to outdated heritage. On this scale, Diam fell somewhere towards the latter; a placid city, a sluggish mollusc crawling along the path of contemporary culture. A trait which suited him...For the moment. But placidity had not been the bait which had lured him to Diam. On certain days, over glasses of honey hued intoxicants, he yearned after the dynamic energy Ethernoea exuded but residing in Diam was a better option than living in close proximity to his parents. Then again, bloodlines had not been the primary cause of relocation.

“Hell!” he cried out, slamming on the brakes as a car cut ahead of him. Only by the virtue of quick reflex did he rescue himself from a serious incident. “Bloody sightless moron!” he cursed beneath his breath as the vehicle zipped away. The offending car maneuvered in and out of traffic driven by a dextrous hand courting death.

Rattled by the near collision, he could not scatter the trepidation flooding into him. The day had already soured to a considerable degree. After a few minutes on the road, a striking brick-red skyscraper meandered into sight. The crimson glass shattered the monotony of the beige structures flanking its sides. “Bain and Associates,” announced the large cerulean metal alphabets. 

While waiting for the security-guard to let him through, his critical eye studied the building. His years at the company had failed to get him habituated to the liberal use of so strong a colour. The tint reminded him of gore. The metal gates opened, he halted the scrutiny to pull into the parking lot.

Marching towards the door, each step he took served to amplify the queasiness. He could sense the presence of the invisible guard marching him towards the eager executioner waiting behind the entrance. He paused at the door and inhaled a deep breath before striding inside. In an instant the subdued environment of the office replaced the open airy sounds of the street.

Each time he entered the building, he switched worlds. The outside was so varied from the inside, yet both worlds co-existed along the same plane, neither interfering with the other. He was acclimatized to the acoustics of the office; the faint drone of whirling machines, the rapid soft taps of hurried fingers flying over weary keys, the voices whispering rumours, the subtle laughter.

Without encountering much resistance the miracle of industrialization had replaced hallowed ground, wherein consecutive cubicles substituted cathedral pews. Offices were new age churches where humanity’s boisterous nature once held in place by religion, was now subdued by income. The fear of a god substituted for the fear of unemployment. And the visuals? Well the visuals of the interior never altered. Every employee dressed in well-pressed garments, each projecting their most amicable behaviour aiming to be sociable as was required to work in a team, as a team. The visuals disgusted him.

At the far corner of the vast floor, he spotted Kurt barking out instructions at a colleague. Moving with as much stealth as possible, aiming to keep below the radar, Blaz slipped into his assigned box.

Two of the three occupants he shared the limited cube with were already in place. The first, a thin man with sagging facial skin and thick horn rimmed glasses who went by the name of Lester. The second, a plump woman with the face of a sharp beaked vulture, Pamela. The third chair was empty but the diminutive green dot of light on the machine in front of it was proof of momentary absence.

Neither pair of eyes strayed from their respective screens. Their indifference did not trouble him. On the contrary an exchange of salutations would have induced amazement. He did not care enough to bother himself with the two or with the rest of the team. All interactions with them revolved around work based conversations.

The small talk was an exercise he had decided to forego. It was burden enough to lurk within the engineered veneer which employment in the corporate kingdom required. Small talk? Talk about wasted time. Silence was a routine he had established. He had thwarted their initial efforts to include him in their social hub. Eventually they surrendered, resentful at his declination of friendship. He was not without reasons. He rejected them not because he despised them but because they were not his ‘kind’ of people and for most part of the day thoughts of them never grazed his mind.

The corporate world was a nasty business. It had a sinister way of dealing and thriving in collections of humanity, but yet somehow managing to keep one individual atomized from the other. Bona fide friendship was a rare commodity in the corporate wilderness. Even if one attempted to foster genuine bonds, the paramountcy of work had a devious way of wedging people apart. If careers were begun with a sturdy determination of standing by virtues of honesty and dignity, a few years in the jungle and one turned into an expert in sabotaging the other...more so if the other stood in the path of the mythical object known as the ‘career ladder.’ Where does it lead to? How far does it go? No one knew. The sole promise of grandeur drove the herds towards the pot of promised gold at the far end of the illusory rainbow.

The singular way to survive the inhospitable wilderness was via the expression of fabricated cordiality, a trait he had adopted with reluctance. Personal musings were best kept to oneself. Instead a repertoire of acceptable themes were essential. Work, lunch, work and get the hell out of there. that was his uncomplicated routine. Then again, how different was this world from the world out there? Not much. A cynical perspective? Perhaps.

However, there were always exceptions. Keeping this in mind he had developed a test customized to the soul attempting to qualify as a friend. Those who passed it, crossed over to the side of potential allies. Those who failed? Well, they were forgotten. Work would have been insufferable had it not been for the one exception who passed the litmus, if not with positive colours nonetheless with endurable hues.

“Blaz!” A loud voice called.

“Hey Aiden,” he said looking up as a well-built, tanned man entered the cubicle and sat on the empty chair.

Aiden Smith was the exception. True, he did not consider the man close enough to qualify for classification under his limited list of intimate friends, still the man was his solitary comrade in the wilderness. On the other hand, he was sure Aiden listed him as a close companion and he had allowed the illusion to exist. There was no harm in it.

“Did you catch the game last night? Woodstock kicked ass!” Aiden gushed with enthusiasm.

Blaz shook his head. “No I missed it. Went out. Old associates were in town.” It was a lie. He had spent the night inside the apartment staring at the walls but disclosing this bit of information was unnecessary.

“Too bad. You should have seen the way Hamilt—”

“Gentlemen,” interrupted a sharp voice. “I’m sure it was all grand what Hamilton did but Blaz, I haven’t received the minutes. Have you sent them to me?”

Blaz glared at the short stocky man who had come to stand beside him. He detested every single aspect of the man; the receding hairline, the bloated belly, the beady rat eyes and thick rubbery lips. But the feature he found most revolting was the obnoxious gloat on the man’s face for it was an expression of triumph as though some colossal feat had been accomplished which raised him to the status of a hero. A look incompatible with the obese face.

Blaz could find no basis for the displaced elation. To guide an obscure team in an equally obscure research firm was not the archetype for defining success. Albeit, he himself resided in no finer a situation than Kurt, but where he was sentient to his failures, Kurt was incognizant to the truth. Therefore the shameless celebration, if nothing more than a depiction of dim-wittedness, was pitiable.

“Blaz!” Kurt’s voice revived him to the world. “I haven’t received the minutes. Have you sent them to me?”

The minutes were not done. He had just entered the office. Hawk-eyed Kurt would have spotted this, therefore the current line of enquiry was an attempt at humiliation. In an instant, the diligent tapping of keys in the air dropped and whispers stilled themselves as all ears waited in anticipation. The carnivore was cornering its prey. Burning with resentment, he answered, “The minutes aren’t done.”

“Why not? Correct me if I’m wrong but weren’t you supposed to give them to me the moment you were in? Are you going to do them?”

“I’m going to do them.” He would have to do them, there was no choice.

“Maybe you would like me to do them for you?”

In the cubicle behind him a couple of scavenging hyenas cackled out soft laughter. The prey had been cornered. The question was absurd. It was nothing more than a veiled invitation for a dispute Kurt was guaranteed to win.

Blaz suppressed the urge to punch Kurt’s odious face. Breathe! Anger bubbled beneath his skin. He needed the job yet he did not wish to utter the required apology. Twice the word had been forced out, a third time in the same morning was asking too much. Determined not to speak, Blaz stared at Kurt whose crafty eyes stared back.

True, the man’s intent was malicious but there was an underlying fascinating quality about the objective Kurt wanted to attain. The question had not been the conscientious probing of an individual who cared about ‘missing’ work. Instead, it was the interrogation of one indulging in an eon old human activity. Humans have always dealt in a secretive currency, one unauthenticated by paper, a concealed currency which is in constant flow from one to the other but without much awareness on the part of the bearer. Most individuals are incognizant to this clandestine system but on some subconscious level every mind is aware and each indulged incessantly in the struggle over the control of energy...human energy.

It was an old game played by oppressors. The world was swarming with such usurpers leeching on the energy of unsuspecting others; from the laughing child stomping through another’s sand turrets to the crafty legislator ladling out deceptive words. Kurt was a scum-crusted thief who intended to boost his energy system via plundering.

“Well?” probed Kurt.

If submission was the price of avoiding confrontation then the shark could have the energy. Combat was pointless. “I’ll get them done right away. I apologize for the delay.”

Kurt’s eyes gleamed with a strange exultant light. The look of a predator sated with the taste of fresh warm blood. “I’ll be expecting them in ten minutes,” Kurt said with a greasy smile and turned to Aiden. “Great job on the Ishal report. Keep up the good work. How’s Giselle? When’s the baby due?”

“Thanks Kurt.” Aiden beamed. “Giselle’s doing great. The baby’s due in October.”

“Whoa!” Kurt mouthed. “A couple of months and you’re going to be a dad. Nice.” His attention wavered as a thin man strode past. “Gary,” he called out. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Blaz watched Kurt stroll off with Gary. His head was throbbing with resentment. Kurt had insulted him and he had been unable to oppose the man. He was not affected by the opinion of his colleagues who had monitored and relished the public criticism. No. It was the admonishment which twisted him into angry knots. Modern progressive businesses preached the hierarchy-less structure. A blatant lie. The corporate owned him, every piece of him; his body, his mind, his self-respect was less his and more theirs.

“He’s probably looking for something else to stick his snotty nose into,” whispered Aiden.

Blaz  released a discreet chuckle. “Yes, I’m sure,” he muttered making sure the words were inaudible to the other two in the box. The hyenas, Pam and Lester, were in perpetual need of pieces of babble to present as an offering before the master carnivore. The hyenas were ready to do anything to upgrade themselves in the eyes of the beast and everyone was well acquainted with the unconcealed antagonism Kurt expressed for Blaz.

“You don’t look so good man,” said Aiden. “No sleep huh? Ah! Old associates in town and no sleep. What have you been up to, you devil?”

Blaz mimed laughter hoping the pretence would hold. His ration of sleep over the span of the last few days had been paltry. “I’m going to get this damn thing done,” he said, no longer wishing to indulge in meaningless banter.

“Yea, you better.”

Blaz swivelled towards the monitor. Opening a sheet of virtual white space, he typed, “August 8th...” Then he stopped. The air was quiet save for the sound of humming computers, everyone else was immersed in work. He reminded himself that his equanimity hinged on the bloody minutes. Forcing himself to work, he struck another key. His fingers moved in the automated drone-like motion they had become accustomed to. A short while later he mailed the controversial minutes.

Reaching into his pocket, he searched for his headphones but was unable to find them. Mild panic brushed him, music had the ability to compress the flow of time and without it work would be unbearable. “Shit!” he cursed softly. Today, sadistic time was going to drag him through each tedious moment.

He raised his hands to type but the fingers refused to strike. He could not carry on. On the screen hordes of figures and letters waited for him to sift through them and transform them from gibberish into comprehensible information. But blinded by misery, his optics failed to diagnose incoming paths of light as being information.

He had never been able to isolate the root of this melancholy. He was searching for something but the definition of the something remained elusive. Perhaps it was an object, an occupation or a person...Who knows?

A sardonic smirk twisted his mouth. Strange. As an adolescent he had never envisioned himself becoming a research analyst. He had harboured other more fantastical visions, all of which were festering in distant dust laden graves. Drifting along life’s oscillating currents, he had permitted life to ferry him to any beach it pleased; sand or stone he voiced no complaints.

Along the way he had encountered the two varied breeds of travellers; the first, like him were thoughtless jetsam, the second were the industrious canoe carvers. He had seen the carvers labour to create vessels in hope they would receive the power to control direction. But carving such a craft meant bitter labour and most never achieved the perfect canoe. He had seen their weary arms discard the axes and allow the currents to seize control.

He had passed all of them, those building boats and those with sinking ships. He was a bit of aimless flotsam journeying through life. Thus, when the moment of career choice presented itself before him from among the meagre row of fixed options to which his education provided him access, he took the one based on capability. He neither loved nor liked the option. Instead parallel to the existence of a harlot masquerading through the motions of love with a stranger she neither adored nor fancied, he too lurked beneath the garb of an average employee. And like the common whore, his sole catalyst was the money.

Glancing sideways, he gazed at Aiden who wore a look of avid concentration. The same could not be said of Aiden. The man loves his job. Blaz wished a similar passion filled him. Then the work he found mind numbing would have been bliss. He looked at the monitor but unable to focus, he turned to Aiden. “Smoke?”

“Sure thing.” Aiden rose.

Blaz followed him down a narrow corridor at the end of which was a door marked with the sign “No Exit.” Aiden pushed against the door and stepped out into the back of the building. Brilliant sunshine lit up the small open enclosure designated for smokers. Led by the harsh bass of large truck horn, frequencies from the ever playing street concerto invaded the air.

Aiden withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Pulling out one for himself, he offered the pack to Blaz. Lighting up, he said, “Before I forget I’ve been meaning to ask, are you in touch with Celeste? It’s been a while since you’ve mentioned her.”

Startled by the unexpected question, Blaz disguised his surprise by drawing in a slow drag on the cigarette. It had been weeks since he had thought about her. Her significance to him had never been levitated beyond a random woman he had chanced upon in a club several months ago. A night of fleeting amusement, which should and would have ended there had Celeste not been Giselle’s first cousin.

The drunken night meant more to her than it had to him. She gushed about the wonderful man she had met to Giselle. After scanty probing, Giselle realized the man in discussion was none other than the Blaz she knew. The discovery had thrilled both Giselle and Aiden. The matter would have concluded there had the pair declined the parts of playing matchmaker. They did not. And so within a few short hours, a second encounter was arranged for him to acquire intimacy, this time through verbal intercourse.

Less for his pleasure and more to satisfy the matchmakers he had complied. Soon without much active participation or interest on his behalf, he had become enmeshed in a casual relationship with Celeste.

A month and a half earlier than today, unable to carry on with the charade any longer, he had opted for closure. She had been heartbroken, he relieved. For him, their relationship reeked of convenience. Celeste was not unattractive by any standards and although he was in constant search of distractions, Celeste was a distraction not worth indulging in. “There’s nothing much to say,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to her since the breakup.”

“Ah...”

“Why?”

 “Giselle was wondering if the two of you wanted to come along on a weekend trip with us to the Ziget coastline. You know, to Tunnel.”

The cigarette halted mid-flight to Blaz’s mouth. An entire weekend with Celeste was an event he had no desire to endure. He stared at Aiden. The hopeful light on the man’s features, surprised him. Aiden’s concern had always intrigued him. Speaking with care, so not to offend his companion, he said, “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“C’mon man! Be a sport!” coaxed Aiden. “It’ll be fun, just the four of us like old times. We’ll drink ourselves half-way to death and the weather is perfect.”

Drinking had been the reason he had landed in the Celeste quicksand and for him ‘old times’ had never been a source of satisfaction. “I’ll give it some serious thought,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Then Aiden prodded his arm, a worried expression emerged on his face. “Man I need to hit the gym. I’ve missed two sessions taking Gisele to the doc.”

Blaz searched for something conversational to say in response. “Relax, it’s been two days.”

Aiden shook his head. “No man. First its two days then four and soon you’re like those fat slobs.”

Blaz burst out laughing, less at the words spoken and more at the depth of emotion expressed.

“Hey man, appearances count more than anything else.” Aiden looked serious. “Respect is what you get...if you get off your lazy butt and start working out, you’ll get what I‘m going on about.”

“I suppose you’re right.” There was undeniable truth in Aiden’s words. He had been witness to the numerous times Aiden via the use of his agreeable exterior had greased his way out of a host of tenacious situations.

“I’m always right,” said Aiden with characteristic assurance. “Hey we better head back before good old Kurt gets his knickers in a knot.”

Blaz grinned. “Yes lets.” He threw the cigarette to the ground, glad to have circumvented the trip.

Walking back towards the cubicle, he groaned. Kurt was positioned a few metres from their cubicle, stern disapproval riddled the fat face.

“What does he want now?” Aiden muttered. “You’ve mailed those minutes haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I bet he’s looking for some lameass excuse to say something or the other.  I’ll distract him before he launches himself into another fit.” With that Aiden called out, “Kurt! Do you think it’s a good idea to use qualitative analysis instead of quantitative for the first phase of the Ran survey?”

Kurt pondered over the suggestion. “I’ll think about it. It’s a good start.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Aiden flashed a winsome smile. Disarmed by charm, Kurt smiled back.

Blaz slipped into the cubicle relieved to have averted another superfluous admonishment. Kurt was starting to get on his nerves. Ever since he associated with the organization, the man had directed unwarranted malice towards him. Why? He had no idea. True, he was not the major cog of the team, that laurel rested on Aiden’s becoming head but neither was he the slacker.

He ensured all duties allocated to him were submitted within stipulated time-frames. Still, the gargoyle had never been appeased. Sometimes Blaz was haunted by the persistent notion that perhaps Kurt’s antagonism was not in the least related to work. Instead the crux of the animosity lay elsewhere. Perhaps it was the outright refusal to partake in any of the communal events the other members of the team engaged in. Each time there was a non-mandatory invitation for the team to gather beyond the grounds of the building, he declined. The logic was simple. He found no reason good enough to squander away time not being reimbursed. His attendance in the building was good, his work was acceptable, and his behaviour polite. For this, they compensated him with a rigid sum. What further right did they have to lay claim over the fragment of life that’s left?

Aiden entered the cube. He whispered, “The guy’s a menace.”

“Yea, I don’t feel as safe at work.” He turned to the screen where work was waiting to subjugate him. Well, the sooner he was done with the mounds, the sooner he would be liberated. The remainder of the day crept by, the mounds diminished and were superseded by other mounds. A brief mid-day meal curbed the avalanche of duties and it was back to the machine, to work like a machine.

When the evening which held the finishing ribbon could no longer postpone its fall, he heaved a sigh of relief. Tomorrow the ribbon would be miles away but at the moment he had crossed it. Exhausted, he turned off the machine.

“What say we go grab a couple of drinks at Wired?” Aiden suggested.

“Yes. I need to unwind. Wired sounds perfect.” He accepted the offer, not because he had a keen desire to linger further in Aiden’s company but because there was little else to do and nowhere else to go.

They hurried out of the crimson building. Agreeing to meet at the nearby pub, they parted towards their respective vehicles. He tooted his horn as he passed Aiden, who was on the phone. Aiden grinned and flashed a thumbs up. Blaz sighed. The evergreen joy Aiden exhibited was at times a tad tedious, but there was no mystery shrouding the origin of the bliss. After all, when one has found one’s calling there were no lodgings for remorse.

Turning into the street, Blaz grinned. Negligible traffic was always a good thing. After a short drive on the near empty road, up against the background of the darkening sky, he spotted a large neon sign. Its gaudy lights flashed out the pub’s name.

As he parked, the pulsating music reached out to touch him. He stepped out and leaned on the vehicle waiting for Aiden. Above him, the residual orange glow of the day disintegrated, displaced by the dark which had returned to reclaim its domain. Scattered spots of distant energy sparkled through the atmosphere’s bounty of semi-opaque smog. Only the brightest spots were visible. The rest, blotted out by unseen grey matter ceased to exist. He shifted attention to the deserted lot.

Moments passed but there was no sign of Aiden. A draft of frosty air swirled around him. Pulling his thin cotton coat inches closer to his skin, he shifted from one foot to the other.

Unable to wait any further, he strolled towards the building and pushed against its wooden door. Once inside, he halted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the diaphanous haze in the air created by fast burning nicotine which mingled with the faint odour of sweating bipeds, deteriorating perfume and alcoholic breath. Inhaling this medley of olfactory fumes, his careful eyes examined the environment.

The congested bar was teeming with a diverse range of life. Upon the floor lovers clasped in sweet embrace swayed to the fast falling rain of notes. Scattered into various corners of the room, lone males cradled their drinks scouting for temporary bed partners. Seated solitary women feigned indifference, their eagerness masked under practiced nonchalance. Road weary truckers guzzled on large mugs of dark rum boisterously swapping tales from their travels. Businessmen in crumpled suits sipped on glasses of whisky discussing recent ventures and conquests. Sad-faced perpetual drunks sprawled over lonely tables washing away broken memories. Places such as these were more than mere watering holes where the herds came to quench the thirst. Rather, they were refuges besieged each day by an agglomeration of humanity seeking to bask in the rejuvenating glow of collective energy.

His hand rose to his collar. Loosening the noose, he pulled off his coat. He could feel salty drops forming on his nape. Easing his way through the congested floor, dodging waiters bearing beverage trays he proceeded to the crowded bar. By the workings of providence he was nearing the counter when a chair was abandoned. He sat down and motioned to the bartender.

“Beer,” he called out to the raised eyebrow of the stone faced man who pushed a glass in front of him before moving away to attend to the clamouring din of other impatient patrons.

He took a sip, savouring the cooling satin of the bitter ale. His gaze drifted along the length of the polished counter, lingering over the faces lining it. His optics locked with a pair of dark eyes. He focused on its owner; a woman encased in a green silk dress. Long black hair flowed over her shoulders. The gleam exuded by her flawless skin highlighted her sharp features. Neither the dress nor its bearer belonged in the bar. She was as misplaced as a purebred stallion among swine.

There was a disturbing quality about the woman, she possessed a sphinx-like immobility and as her inscrutable eyes pierced into him, not a single ripple of emotion passed over her face. Not a flutter broke the stillness of the long black lashes. She sat in silence, less human, more statue. A strange sensation came over him. It was as though she was inspecting his innermost core. Perturbed, he broke the gaze.

Shaken by the encounter, he swallowed some beer but unable to resist with fascinated eyes he angled his head towards her. A soft gasp escaped his lips. Instead of finding her, he found himself staring into the rugged face of a young man. A man who was oblivious to his scrutiny. Shaking his head, Blaz turned away unsure if his mind had conjured her up or if she had made a hasty departure.

“This is for you.” A small white square of folded paper was thrust into his face. He looked up. The bartender stood before him.

“The woman, sitting there...” The man inclined his head towards the spot where she had been seated, “...left it for you.”

“Thank you.” His eager fingers accepted the square. He unfolded it. Two peculiar lines greeted him. “Red swirls sing an awful tune. The spark could slit the dreamy rope.”

Besides this short string of bizarre words, there were no others. Bewildered, he re-examined the note but no logic could be derived from the enigmatic writing. Spinning around, he ran his eyes over the length of the room searching for her, but she had melted away, leaving no trace.

Turning around to face his drink, he reassumed the inspection. The mind is a curious organ. Functioning through surreptitious association, the word ‘dreamy’ stimulated buried information and in a sudden burst every minuscule element of the forgotten dream revisited him.

“Mina,” he whispered, feeling as though he was remembering himself and even now, in mere reminiscence the affinity he felt for the woman in his dream had not diminished. Two heavy hands clapped themselves onto his shoulder, startling him.

“Hey man! I didn’t mean to keep you waiting!”

Concealing the note in his palm, he rotated to face Aiden. “Don’t worry about it. I managed,” he said with a smile. He meant it. He had more than managed. After all the most astonishing event had occurred in the man’s absence.

“Awesome,” said Aiden. “Hey!” He called to the bartender. “Get me a beer.” He turned back to Blaz and said, “I saw the most magnificent thing ever! Damn was she super fine! 50 inches. A black beaut. You should have seen this television.”

“Nice,” Blaz mumbled. His distracted mind was miles away. Perhaps, if Aiden had been present, the incident may not have transpired. Perhaps the impeded arrival had meant to occur. Stop it! His overactive mind, stirred by the perplexing events, was churning out supposition at a magnanimous pace.

“I must have her.” Aiden’s voice punctuated his cogitation.

“Huh? Who?”

“The television...she’s begun to obsess me.” Aiden continued. “I can just afford her. It’ll be a little tight but man, I can’t wait.” Aiden had a lusty look in his eyes.

 “Didn’t you buy one just the other month?”

“I did. But you haven’t seen one like this. Wait I’ll show you a pic.” Aiden whipped out his phone.

Mild aggravation leaked into Blaz. He could not comprehend his companion’s obsession with every new machine manufactured. Aiden upgraded electronics at such an expedited rate that Blaz had ceased calculation. The commodity market was designed in so conniving a manner that there was always a superior machine than the one recently acquired. The markets evoked covetousness, playing on the innate desires of the herds and the blithe herds continued grazing even though their bellies were bloated. Their need to consume refused to be quelled. Foraging among the fields of perpetual want upon which Aiden lingered was a habit Blaz avoided and detested. He had no interest in the television being brought up for inspection.

“See.” Aiden shoved the device towards him. Blaz glanced at the picture. The machine bore no perceptible difference to the one residing in Aiden’s house.

“It’s okay,” he offered.

“Okay?” Aiden looked shocked. “It’s fucking amazing, that’s what it is.”

Blaz stared at Aiden who was ogling at the screen. Words were dripping from Aiden’s mouth but he could hear none. For some odd reason the night’s dream of the gigantic eye impaled his intellect, dissuading his mental processes to flow into alternative streams. Occupying his mind like a physical entity, the vision was a usurping cuckoo thrusting out rival ideas from his brain. The dream was vital but the hidden objective eluded him.

His mind converged back to Aiden’s voice. Numerous had been the occasions when Aiden had spoken with hungry devotion of objects he craved. Blaz had become a master at feigning attentiveness, nodding at exact moments and releasing required reactions. Now with memories of the dream pressing against his skull demanding release mingled with Aiden’s constant chattering, his patience was shredding away. What point was there in discussing an object?

“Check out this angle, see how thin it is,” Aiden was saying. “And look at this—”

“Aiden,” said Blaz in a clear sure voice. The tone halted Aiden’s babble.

“What?” Aiden asked, the impatience clear. He was not accustomed to interruptions, not when he was in the midst of his monologue.

“This morning, I had a peculiar dream. It was the most insane one I’ve ever seen. Everything in it was so real and—”

Aiden burst out laughing. “Man, what are you going on about?” Aiden’s face was cloaked in mirth. “I can’t believe you just said that...a dream? Who thinks about dreams anyway? I can’t remember the last time I actually saw one...”

Blaz stopped listening to the words. Relationships were self-contained systems. Every association, whether shared by two or ten is anchored by certain dynamics. In a system with perfect stasis, each partner shares with equal measure the reins of control. On the other hand, in an asymmetric system, one participant holds monopoly over the reins, unwilling to relinquish control.

He had granted Aiden control over their system, not because he lacked strength but rather because he chose to do so. Aiden was situated on a wavelength miles from him and the past weeks had forced Blaz to question his own motives for sustaining the relationship. He had never extended himself to the man. Aiden had nurtured the alliance ever under the delusion that Blaz was an active contributor to their system. Hell, most of his relationships were of a similar nature, wherein the other party believed his commitment to the relationship mirrored theirs. His disinterest was never perceptible.

Had it been an average day, Aiden’s indifference to the dream would have halted his words. He was not in the business of cramming unwanted notions down an unwilling throat. But today was different. He had rambled beyond the well-worn path his life followed and he was standing along the edges of unknown meadows  where each lush blade of green called out to him. “Come explore,” whispered their thousand tiny voices speaking as one harmonious whole.

Today, Aiden’s apathy irked him or maybe it was the bloody vision that was rattling around in his brain, disturbing him. And as its clamouring grew in intensity, he felt a curious tingle over the top of his skull as though some invisible hand was exerting immense pressure on his brain. “This one was different,” he stated pressing on, submitting to the aching urge to release the dream into the air, “it came to the most bizarre conclusion, a gigantic eye appeared up in the sky a—”

“No way!” Aiden said.

“Yes, I know,” said Blaz gratified at the man’s interest.

“I can’t believe it!” Aiden gushed out in excitement staring at some point in the vicinity of the pub. He hurried across the room, towards a young woman who let out an exclamation of surprise.

Blaz could not recognize her. Aiden pointed towards him. The duo walked back.

“You won’t believe who I ran into.” There was a large smile on Aiden’s face. “I haven’t seen her since college! Five years or was it more?”

“It’s been close to nine,” she said.

“Unbelievable!” Aiden burst out. “Those were crazy times weren’t they? Anyway before I forget my manners Blaz I’d like you meet Lisel, Lisel meet Blaz.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.

“Same here.” Blaz shook her hand and flashed a courteous smile. But is it really that nice? He was of no consequence to her nor she to him. Why did people indulge in such superfluous cordiality? Well, for one to make the world more hospitable.

Lisel turned back to Aiden. “I hear you’ve tied the knot. Congratulations!”

“Yep. Thanks.” Aiden grinned. “Now what say we go get a table? Fancy running into you here!”

“Sure thing.”

The two of them walked towards the rows of tables. Blaz followed them in silence. While he was not averse to the intrusion, he was annoyed at the callous manner in which Aiden had dismissed his thoughts about the dream.

Domineering Aiden had often done this in the past. In the past Blaz had never been offended, but not quite so this time. Annoyance welled up through him. Who the hell does he think he is anyway? True, Aiden’s abilities surpassed his in every arena prized by the world; an exceptional communicator, a superior employee, a man equipped with an agreeable disposition and so on and on. Nonetheless, the  man’s attributes did not give Aiden the right to act as though he was the bloody king of the whole damned world.

Sitting beside them, lost in resentment, he was oblivious to the two diving into shared retrospection. A  considerable time had elapsed before he realised Aiden was addressing him. Lisel was staring at him as well. “Huh?” Was all he could manage.

“You alright? You don’t look so good,” said Aiden, anxiety lined his face.

Blaz looked at Aiden wondering if the concern was genuine. He shook his head in self-reproach. Yes, it is. Then why was he harbouring such antagonistic thoughts against the man?

Guilt nipped at him but he could not locate the genesis of the unpleasant contemplations. “I’m feeling a little spaced out,” he continued, attempting to deflect their scrutiny.

Attention was a sensation he never relished. Humans longed for invisibility, never once realizing they had already succeeded. Words were the most efficient cloaks of invisibility, they camouflaged the psyche from the harsh intensity of obnoxious investigations. And so, he applied the cloak to protect his intellect. “I’m fine,” he said and smiled harder. “A little worn out from work.”

Assured by the words, the duo re-entered their spirited discussion. Aiden attempted to involve him in the conversation, a thoughtful but ineffectual move. He neither had the focus nor desire to participate. So he adhered to little nods and large smiles.

 Over and over like a defective tape, the contents of the dream coursed through him. True, the dream was just a phantasm yet he could not cordon himself away from emotions experienced. Laughter spilling out from the other members of the table distracted him, reeling him outward.

A strange sensation washed over him filling him with restless energy. In an instant, the entire room around him acquired a sudden quality of space, as if the very air had condensed into clear gelatine which segregated him from the environment. Pressure mounted within his skull. He felt something stirring in his head. It was the most unwelcome feeling he had ever perceived.

His eyes burned and individual muscles ached with no apparent cause. Closing his eyes, he used his fingers to knead the soreness away. Feeling better, he attempted to open his eyes but was horrified to find he was unable to pull up the eyelids.

Stunned, in instant reaction he tried to lift his arm but the limb failed to comply. Terrified, he tried to cry out but he could not move his lips. He struggled but his anatomy lay frozen as rigid as a metal block.

I’m paralyzed! Somebody help me! He screamed but his voice never escaped the confines of his mind. Overwhelming claustrophobia took hold. Entombed within himself, he could neither see, nor hear nor move. He was an unwilling prisoner to his own flesh. The ebony tincture of his sightless consciousness frightened him. He was unable to sense respiration. Am I even breathing?

He had never been segregated from his body in such a bizarre manner. Perhaps he was dead, but there was no way to verify the suppositions.

Help! He screamed again but the desperate cry made no sound. His tolerance to the internal darkness decayed. His mind was on the cusp of snapping when iridescent hues started swirling before his mental eye. Stupefied he could only stare at the phenomenon unfolding within his head.

The colors transformed into a vivid landscape. An open sky bathed in hues of rust stretched out above him. Before him, mere metres away, was an astronomical chasm which extended into unknown murky depths. Across this abyss lay a magnificent garden containing exotic blossoms in colors and species circumventing nomenclature. Entwined around the magnificent flora was a translucent stream which held waters of such crystalline purity that even the most untainted snow, if held in comparison would fade to grey. The hypnotic beauty of the spectacle transfixed him.

The entire topography was far too extravagant to be authentic. There was a marked distinction between the land across the chasm and the earth upon which he stood. Sands of a red soiled desert pebbled with clusters of curious green rocks lay before him.

He stared in absolute astonishment at this alien terrain. The lucidity of the surroundings stunned him. It was as though he had been transported into a strange new world. Time passed. He was not sure how much, five minutes, maybe ten. He tried turning his head to examine the landscape behind him but he could not move.

Then, with the same sudden alacrity with which the astonishing terrain had appeared, it vanished. Mobility returned. His eyes fluttered open. In astonished silence he stared at his companions. He had been certain Aiden would have noticed his shuttered eyes. Instead the man oblivious to his predicament, was still engaged in dialogue.

Unable to understand, he sat petrified with disbelief. Something terrible was afoot. The illusion of amplified space had dissipated. Now the room appeared constricted, as though it had shrunk its dimensions. And the people...why are there so many people in so minuscule a space? His eyes latched on the numerous mouths, each engaged in one form of activity or the other. A myriad of lips in synchronous consistent motion; masticating, slurping, drinking, communicating, smoking, on and on this legion of mouths marched.

The warmth radiating off the accumulated bodies made heat in the air intolerable. He wished the evening would end. A burning compulsion for solitude filled him. There’s too many people in here. I can’t hear myself think. His head started to throb.

He rose to his feet nearly knocking over the chair in his desperation to get away. Lisel and Aiden halted their jabbering to look up at him. Their mouths were parted in surprise.  He almost burst out laughing at their shocked faces.

Damn, they look so stupid! The desire to scream into their faces was strong. He struggled to maintain control. What’s happening? The turbulent urges welling through his psyche stunned him. Forcing away the bitter words he wished to scream, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

“Anything wrong?” asked Aiden.

“Nothing to worry about.” He displayed a grin. “I need to make a call.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the exit. The ache in his cranium was unbearable. Pushing through the squirming bodies, he held his breath, refraining from inhaling the spicy stench of decaying bodies. Humans were living cemeteries. Revolted by the overwhelming odours, the need to get away propelled him forward towards the exit sign.

He pushed past it and stumbled out into the open like a drunkard intoxicated, not by wine but by human transpiration. The night air brought with it a little of the required balance but the nausea remained. With the intention of sitting out the disorientation, he trudged to the car.

Getting inside, he leaned on the seat and allowed the cool leather to ease the searing heat in his flesh. His brain, like an overtaxed engine, ground to temporary standstill. He flipped on the air vents and the icy air flowed over his motionless body. Moments later, the events flooded back to him.

He had witnessed the improbable. His frantic mental processors searched for a rational analysis which justified both the enigma of the paralysis and the subsequent vision. His mind, like a fish reeled out of water, flopped in hysterical abandon. The processors supplied two suppositions. One; he had suffered from a stroke or two; he had been magically transported into the midst of some foreign landscape. Stop! Transportation into another landscape was the most preposterous inference ever manufactured.

A stroke was the answer. Hinged on this possibility his fear of mania alleviated. Yes, it was a stroke and the vision? Well, it was a hallucination brought on by his oxygen depleted brain. Ironic in desperate moments, when one was battling for mental stability, a severe medical condition was the preferred explanation. The absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh. Almost. But if it had been the workings of a stroke, he would need to see a physician. He had no desire to go. He hated hospitals.

The personal dejection, his unrelenting misery which had been staved off by the series of astounding incidents streamed back inside him. Now he had some sort of condition to worry about. Great just bloody great. Can’t I ever catch a break? Cruel life. Well, if health failed to execute him then the depression would. One way or the other, he was sure to enter death soon. Raging at the unfairness raining on him, he smashed his fist onto the dashboard.

He regretted the move but the pain cleared his head and he tried to centre himself. No, it wasn’t a stroke. It couldn’t have been a stroke. It was stress. Hell yes! For nights on end his pickings of sleep had been lean. Yes, he had drifted into sleep and perhaps for a short span of time had fallen into another outlandish dream. If it had been a stroke, there would have been pain, but there had been none. Mollified by the logic, his mind stopped its floundering and slipped back into familiar waters. This time he burst out laughing. Go home, get some sleep. 

“Music,” he said to the silence in the car. “I need some music.” His fingers reached out to twist the knob of the radio.

“Bla-zzz,” a raspy masculine voice called out, startling him.

Wondering if Aiden had come after him, he peered around the dimly lit lot but besides a couple of women engaged in conversation, the lot was deserted. And that was odd. He could have sworn the voice had been close. He waited for a while, the sound did not return. He shook his head. He was hearing voices. I need sleep.

 “Bla-zzz...” the voice called again, closer than before. The manner in which the voice had drawled his name made him nervous. Emphasis had been laid on each letter as though the owner of the disembodied voice garnered pleasure from uttering the word.

A terrifying thought struck him. Someone’s in the back seat! Was it a mugger? But no, the person knew his name and furthermore muggers operated using speed and surprise. A mugger would have acted by now. No, this was someone he either knew or who knew him. Someone was trifling with him.

Whipping around, he shouted, “Whose there?” The vacant back seat stared back at him. Discomforted by the emptiness, he fidgeted in the seat. Outside. The person was outside crouched around the base of the vehicle concealed from his view. Makes sense. A sour grin twisted his face. Well, two could play the same bloody game. 

Sliding over to the passenger seat, he cracked the door open and peeped down the side of the vehicle. Not a soul was in sight. He leapt out and squatted behind the steel. Lowering his head, he peered below the vehicle’s metal body. There was no trace of a human appendage. He sprang to his feet and padded around the vehicle to validate his discovery but no human was to be found.

He waited but nothing happened. Perhaps the prankster with the unidentifiable motive had absconded. He turned to enter the automobile.

“Bla-zzz,” called out the mocking voice for the third time, startled by its proximity he spun around with the expectation of facing its owner. His sight met the vacant expanse of the lot. A shiver curled over his spine. The clarity projected by the voice was impossible without the owner’s presence...but there was no owner.

Muzzling fear he returned to the car. He was hallucinating. Sleep would remedy the phenomenon. He grabbed the cell-phone and dialled. No sooner had it connected, he said, “Listen something’s come up. I’ve got to leave. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“Everything okay?” asked Aiden.

“Nothing serious. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Take care man.”

Tossing the device onto the seat, he took a deep breath. The day had presented him with a series of unusual events. Perhaps he had overindulged his mind and now it had led him into a viscous labyrinth. He remembered the woman and her perplexing message. At least that incident had not been a hallucination. He had the note.

He searched his pockets. “No, no,” he cried, the note was missing. He rummaged through his clothes but was unable to find it. A disagreeable notion occurred. What if he had never placed the note in his pocket? Why? Well, what if he had never received a note in the first place? It made perfect sense and it explained the sudden disappearance of the woman. Then again, the bartender had handed him the note. Had he not? Then where was the damn note?

Sweet mother of god! He had fabricated the entire scenario. He started the engine. There was one course of action to follow to end the lunacy. Get to bed and get sleep.

He concentrated on the road. Scanty traffic expedited the return home. Ten minutes later, he was inside the apartment. Ignoring the cry of his famished abdomen, he marched into the bedroom. A wave of acute fatigue swept over him making sleep his paramount wish. He fell on the bed, moments later as he entered sleep his cerebrum ceased to plague

Next Chapter: index