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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Supernatural · #2071235
Is his dream girl the girl of his dreams?

Through the swirling mists of Morpheus` gift she came to him, unbidden. Unbridled she took him by the hand and led him down, down to the secret place, that dark shadowy abbys within which only our truths untold may inhabit. She took him into her (cold/ firey cold) embrace and they rose together high into the silent (sentiant) aether, entwined soaring, separate yet as one they dwelled in a frozen moment of eternity. Around him nothing existed beyond her soft pale porcelain features. Her alluring hypnotic scent, a light sweet, musky citrus filled his nostrils, as her soft beguiling green eyes penetrated him, holding him fast *(,pulliung at him from the insdie, drawing him slowly into herself. He could feel himself drowning in the alluring darkness that dwelt within her.). Staking his entire consciousness to her visage as high in the dark ether she enveloped him, and he drew her in to the exclusion of all else. He was truly lost in her, beyond salvation or redemption she had become his all, the altar at which (would willingly fall to his knees and surrender his soul.) he fell to his knees and bore his soul.
Forever circling (in that frozen moment), dancing together as light and dark, reeling cavorting in the twilight dreamscape of forever, lost he became in her passion, found she became in his fervour. As night follows day they danced, the shadow and the light. He yearned, she called. Together suffusing yet forever apart, each aching as they reached out for the other, she fulfilled him yet denied him, his yearning fulfilled her. Innocents stolen(*),betrayed by his own passion her leering smile flickered her smiling meadow green eyes flashed, framed by her burning crimson hair. (And he felt himself falling, helplessly tumbling, spiraling into the darkness as the abyss which dwelt within her swallowed his soul. His silent scream of terror and bliss, trapped deep within him as oblivion beckoned.)

He awoke with a vicious start to the sound of his own screams echoing inside his head, his pounding heartfelt fit to burst through his chest, its rhythmic beat sounding like thunder in his ears as his chest heaved and palpitations thrummed at his pulse points. Fighting the fog in his head, along with a lingering sense of danger he felt was slowly receding, he forced himself to get up. His legs were drenched in sweat as he threw them out of bed and was surprised to find them shaky and weak. Morning after morning began like this it was draining to say the least. Resting his elbows on his knees he mumbled a groaning curse into his hands before slapping and rubbing his face.
"It's only a dream....." He reminded himself.
"She's not real."

Goosebumps erupted up his arms and across his upper torso as a shiver of dark dread washed over him like a paint brush on the canvas of his soul, colouring it with that familiar melancholy of loss and fear he had come to know so well the mornings after the dream. He placed one hand to his chest and took a deep breath trying to slow its incessant rhythm. It didn't work. Panic began to creep into his thoughts as the now usual feelings of loss and a detached kind of remorse stole over him. Every morning had been the same now for well over a fortnight. Shaking his head to clear it he toyed with the idea of seeking help, or advice. He knew this couldn't be healthy, knew deep in his gut that something was wrong. Shying away yet again from the barley hidden truth he glimpsed but couldn't or wouldn't confront fully, he headed to the bathroom.

Stepping from the shower he tried once more to recall what had scared him awake. It had been the same again, not entirely identical, but enough to make it distinguishably repetitive. He had woken with a fright. Again. Some mornings screaming, some mornings crying, always drenched in cold sticky sweat with his heart pounding and pulse well elevated. Never quite able to recall with any clarity anything but her face, and it was getting worse. It was no use, this morning just like the last two and countless before it, his head was filled with just one image, the same hauntingly beautiful porcelain features of the girl with the red hair. More than that his mind refused to yield, keeping locked away any hint or recollection of the terror which had been stealing his sleep for so long now. Leaving just her soft pale skin and sparkling green eyes framed in a cascade of red curls to haunt his waking day.
Amid the normal sounds of the morning shuffle and the beeping of the ticket machine ahead, the clear click clack of high heels rang out in the small ticket hall, he heard bodies behind him shuffle and the appreciative animal murmur of young men's aroused interest as a confidant female voice asked someone for directions to platform four. He didn't look up, he never looked up. The scent of her expensive perfume drifted his way. He smiled shyly to himself as the perfume did its job and tickled his senses, firing a reaction deep inside he knew to be purely chemical. Head still bowed, through the turnstiles now and out to the platform. He walked to the same spot as always, the one that would let him leave the train just opposite the exit he needed when it arrived at his station.

As the train pulled in and the doors opened he automatically drew his shoulders in making himself as small as possible. He needn't have bothered there was plenty of room this time of the morning, as always. It was unlike him to make eye contact on the train the same can be said for commuters the world over, keep yourself to yourself, pretending distraction, focused anywhere but the direction of another traveller- or to make eye contact with anyone anywhere really. He was quite happy to leave the world to itself, to let it plod on by with its iPhones, ipads and Galaxies one could hold in the palm of your hand. Quietly content in his some would say archaic bubble of almost preternatural shyness. He often wondered if given time and the inexorable march of technology mankind would eventually forget simple pleasures like the comforting musty smell of a book or the satisfying rustle and whisper of a page as it turned beneath your fingertips, it actually unsettled him to think that it would. Head down he tucked himself into a corner, opened his book and fell happily into the cascade of words before him. The train pulled off with a gentle shudder.

He had looked up momentarily; it was more of a glance really but something had piqued his attention, something on the periphery of his consciousness tweaked his ear and pulled his head and eyes from the watery world of Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea. Instinct dragged his eyes furtively around the carriage, scanning searching for the answer to the knowing niggling unseen something which had pulled his attention from the Nautilus and Nemo's ranting. Down cast heads and slumped shoulders, the occasional cough and shuffle as people adjusted themselves in their too small seats, the fake sleepers and the distant muffled baseline of music he could never have recognised; the musty smell of the underground mixed with sweat and the occasional hint of aftershave or perfume, all set to the background rhythm of the rocking carriage and the seemingly continual rustle and snap of paper as people turned pages or rearranged their free morning news papers. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary he thought. And then he saw her, glimpsed the dull red hair and green scarf partly hidden, almost framed, between two suited men standing back to back. She seemed to somehow demand his attention, like iron fillings drawn to a magnet, as if she were some siren of the sea signing a silent song of enchantment that only he could hear, he found himself shuffling position, just slightly, almost unconsciously to feed his inquisitive eyes. She looked his way and briefly, for just an instant their eyes met. He was mesmerized, her eyelids fluttered demurely, flashing emerald green, she gave him just the faintest hint of a smile before she dropped her gaze back to whatever she held in her unseen hands.

The train slowed as it pulled into the station, that familiar judder gently rocked the carriage as inertia ceased. Passengers rose and jostled like cattle for the door and he found himself starring at the backs of various heads as they left the carriage. He blinked, mentally checking himself as if he had just been snapped out of a trance, a strange flood of guilt and yearning washed over him and he felt the blood rising to his cheeks as he blushed. A hurricane of butterflies erupted deep in the pit of his stomach. His shoulders felt lighter, almost weightless, the palms of his hands tingled as if tiny electric shocks were passing through his flesh. He felt light headed, slightly dizzy as wave after wave of this new and exciting emotion flooded through him. Even his sight seemed to have altered, the objects and people around him standing out as if somehow another dimension had been added to the world around him. Sounds seemed sharper clearer. They now had an almost crystalline quality which seemed to accentuate the acoustics surrounding him.

He scanned the departing commuters backs with an almost frenzied sense of urgency, eyes straining for a glimpse of her red hair or the pale green scarf she had been wearing. He was up on the tips of his toes neck craning, a high pitch scream emitted from the speakers in the carriage warning him that the doors were about to close. The spell broke. It was no use he had lost her, she was gone. His stomach lurched, an unaccountable sense of loss flashed through him and something like panic momentarily stole his sanity. He bolted forwards just as the doors began to close. Blind in his fluster, he shouldered mindlessly through other passengers his heart pounding. Heat prickling the back of his neck as he threw his arm desperately forward towards the ever shrinking gap between the doors. The Nautilus Nemo and professor Aronnax crashed into the curved window of the now fully closed door, falling from his hand to hit the train floor with a dull heavy thud.

People around him drew back, mumbles and curses he heard without hearing floated in the stifled air around him. He bent, bewildered, to rescue old Nemo. The train lurched back into motion and he staggered sideways like a drunk on a listing ship, more mumbled disapproval issued anonymously from his fellow travellers. He rose daring a fleeting sheepish look around, his eyes offering an unspoken apology as only the eyes of the publicly humiliated can, went unheeded as his fellow passengers returned to their stoic state of pretending distraction. Brushing the dust from his book and straightening the few rumpled pages, he spent the next two stops fussing over his own pretend distraction, trying to find the page he last had his book open at.


He wasn't popular at work or one of the lads. No natural lothario or office joker, he was geeky, disjointed and slightly uncomfortable to be round. The truth was no one really knew how to relate to him, how to connect. Having next to nothing in common with many of his colleagues and being too shy and introverted to break ice with anyone else his working days were lonely and solitary. His morning at the office was nominal, nothing of relevance or import occurred, nothing ever did, which didn't help his already tired and lethargic mindset. The sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll.

His eyes ached with a dreary dryness that stung. The clock on the wall was pulling its usual trick, taunting him. Teasing him with its short sharp clicks as second after second stretched laboriously into monotonous, torturous moment after moment. Work was impossible, concentration elusive as flashes of red hair and burning green eyes leapt unbidden through his mind. No matter how much he typed or how much he read, his thoughts would always wander back to her. No matter how many trips to the canteen or how many cups of coffee he drank he couldn't fight the tsunami of tiredness that had been building in him for over a week. His thoughts were heavy, laboured. He rose sluggishly from his desk deciding to hit the canteen again for an early lunch, convinced that food is what his body needed. His vision blurred and a wave of dizziness washed over him, a sudden darkness circled his consciousness threatening to descend and devour him. He staggered slightly, falling back into the seat of his chair, and dark oblivion.

That's when she came to him, silent and serene. Her soft pale skin glowed almost luminous framing her in a bright nimbus of shining white light, her crimson hair hung loose over her shoulders its slight movement giving it the effect of tiny dancing flames hiding among her auburn locks. Her familiar scent was intoxicating, some musky sweet exotic concoction which filled him with a heady longing and made him slightly dizzy. Her piercing emerald eyes probed deep into his, holding him fast absorbing all questions, denying all doubt and dispelling all fear. He was safe once again, happy to be lost in her sweet embrace. As they tumbled through the dream plane, limbs entwined, locked together in their swirling blissful clinch he felt his cares fall away. Like shadows they melted off him dripping into the light to be harmlessly dissolved and absorbed. Cleansing him, releasing him. Stripped of all concern or worry he let himself slide into a subdued euphoria as a familiar warmth and belonging spread through him, setting him adrift on a sea of calm comfort and contentment; the light and love she gave him was nourishment for his soul. Manna, Parana, Chi, Ka, he didn't know what to call it, didn't care. All he knew was that this was all he needed. Nothing else mattered when he was here with her, nothing.

The package slammed onto the desk right by his face, startling him awake. He glanced quickly around the office, his eyes resting on the receding back of the office messenger as he continued his mail round. Along with the rhythmic squeaking of his wire trolley Stanley was also sure he could hear him chuckling. Swearing under his breath he reached across for the package, it was a bundle of internal envelopes held together with rubber bands. Stanley sighed a heavy dejected sigh and decided to go for that early lunch after all.

Standing in the canteen lunch queue he glanced around the brightly lit dining hall. The smell of warm chips and something meaty, maybe beef wafted through the air along with the sounds of plastic plates and metal cutlery, scrapped serving spoons and the banter of his work colleagues. His usual corner seat at the back of the hall under the window was taken. Irritated, he watched its occupant arranging himself. He had turned the small moulded plastic chair sideways so that its back was facing the window, the chair next to him scrapped across the floor as he pulled it round towards him and placed his feet on it. He leaned back resting his hands behind his head and just as he closed his eyes, his gaze fell upon Stanley. He smiled, winked and closed his eyes. Stanley bristled. The guy didn't even have a food tray thought Stanley. But he wouldn't say anything, he never did. He looked around for another seat and a gruff voice spoke over his shoulder. "come on mate." The queue had moved ahead of him and he hadn't noticed. Mumbling an apology, he shuffled forwards a few steps to catch up with the rest of the line. He picked up a plate and placed it on his tray.

The canteen was busy now the air thick with the sounds of people talking and laughing, chairs and cutlery scrapping. He found himself a chair at the end of a table occupied by two other people, almost directly opposite his usual spot. He was ignored by the two lunchers sitting further down the table; he vaguely recognised their faces but didn't know their names, or what they did within the company. It would be the same if he sat at any of tables in the canteen really. He moved a few lukewarm chips through some now slightly cold, jellied gravy and began eating his lunch in silence. The guy seated two chairs away rose with his companion both still chatting obliviously they shuffled towards him, he paused, fork barely an inch from his mouth to apologise quietly as they passed him forcing him to pull his chair forwards to let him squeeze behind . Cursing under his breath as he caught his lower ribs on the table edge. The guy and his mate were well past him now and still lost deep in conversation. Both oblivious to either his presence or apology, they walked and talked as they left the table to stack their empty trays. Stanley pushed his chair back out with a sigh and finished what was on his fork. His eyes were drawn to the man laying with his feet up sleeping. Stanley thought he saw him smiling.

Again, he bristled his temper increasing. Absently stabbing cold chips with his fork and shoving them into his mouth. His annoyance rose as he watched the sleeper, his face twitching and his eyes fluttering under closed lids. He was sure the man was dreaming. A slow smile spread across the sleepers face and a sudden unexplainable flash of anger swelled within Stanley as he watched the slumbering figure. He knew that smile that show of hidden pleasure and delight the dreamer was experiencing, like a poker players tell the sleepers face gave the game away. He was with her, he had to be. Stanley shook his head as if trying to dislodge the insanity of the idea but it niggled away at him, burrowing through his thoughts, like a maggot through an apple it left a trail of jealous darkness. Whispers of betrayal and delights stolen echoed through his mind as images of the sleeper and the woman with the red hair flashed across his minds eye, and the sleepers mocking smile morphed into a smug grin.

"NO!" His scream suddenly filled the hall drowning out all else. Blood rushed to his contorted face which had twisted into a jealous snarl as he sprang from his chair and bounded across the canteen, mindlessly scattering food plates and colleagues alike. He bore down on the sleeper who now half awake sat there starring at him slack jawed, his mind obviously still disorientated from his nap. Bewilderment and a growing terror crept across the non-sleepers face as he slowly registered Stanley storming towards him, this madman with the maniac look in his eyes, this crazed knife wielding stranger. Knife wielding.....

Stanley was upon him before anyone realised what was going on, the gravy stained knife he was holding plunged deep into the neck of the startled sleeper. A fountain of blood exploded from the wound spraying him, and bizarrely Stanley noticed, the window behind dreamer; Screaming and shouting erupted all around him as the knife continued to rip and tear at the gargling defenceless neck. Blood splashed everywhere as Stanley's attack became more and more frenzied. Men rushed in from all sides to disarm him and tackle him to the floor, somewhere through the chaos Stanley heard his own screams telling the now grisly looking remains of the sleeper that 'She' was his. Nobody else's. After all hadn't 'She' come to him on the train, smiled at him with those burning viridian eyes? 'She' had claimed him long ago, he was hers. He was vaguely aware of the pressure of the many arms hands and even knees holding him down, the screaming and crying seemed to fade, becoming nothing more than a dull garble of unintelligible background noise.

All except for the female voice announcing the police had been called, she was crystal clear, strangely calm, confident somehow familiar. The sweet musky smell of her perfume twitched at his nose, its exotic allure, captivating, comforting. He managed to catch just a glimpse of her as he was hauled to his feet and dragged off for the police; her face was pale and innocent looking. Her flaming red hair was tied back tight to her head and there was fear in her bright green eyes. Stanley couldn't distinguish between his own howling scream and the fast approaching sirens.


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