Oliver was surrounded with darkness. He could not see the darkness, it just seemed dark because there was nothing around him. Except his bed, or at least the vast infinite ocean of blankets that seemed to be engulfing him every second. It was so incredibly hot, too; his mouth was the only part of his body that could truly take in cool air, because his arms, legs, and torso were on fire. He didn't know where he was and couldn't remember how he got there. For all he knew, in that particular stretch in time, it could have been months ago that he had seen something besides the darkness. That didn't make sense, but then again, the place he was in, whatever it was, didn't quite make sense either. He tried to think, think harder, even harder, but his thoughts seemed like they were in reverse, or at least out of order, and they were both speeding up and slowing down at the same time. He kept experiencing sudden, sporadic sensations of speed, as if he were shooting through the black sky for one moment, and then completely still and alone the next moment, staring into the vast emptiness with wide, open eyes.
Then, Oliver felt something all throughout his body. It was a spine-tingling chill that shot up and down from his neck to his legs for several seconds. He tried looking around, but everything was the same kind of emptiness, so he didn't know where his head or eyes were turning to. Suddenly, he felt a presence beside him, and he didn't feel alone anymore. Although he couldn't see who it was, he realized that it was a little girl who was beside him. She was staring straight at him, and he couldn't move. He immediately felt paralyzed with fear, and he could still feel the burning ocean of blankets all around him. Then she spoke to him and said softly, "Mister, can you please help me?" It was at that moment that he saw a vision of her face, even though he couldn't make out the exact structure of her eyes, nose, or mouth. She was there, though, and at once, he didn't feel scared anymore.
She spoke to him in a calm, delicate way, and he could even hear a slight tremble in her voice. Oliver realized that this girl who he had never seen in his life was not threatening in any way, nor was she trying to be; she was incredibly sad and perhaps a little bit frightened. She said to him, "I don't want to be here anymore. Why can't I just go?" Although he didn't know what she was talking about, Oliver felt a desire to help her and comfort her, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "I know. Me too." He didn't know why he said this; it was as if it wasn't really him who said it, but instead some kind of voice inside of him. Then the girl asked him with tears in her eyes, "Please, can we go? You can come with me. I can show you the birds." He tried to say something back. He tried, but his voice wouldn't work. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Suddenly the deep chill returned, and he didn't feel the girl's presence anymore. The emptiness soon became filled with dark yellow spots, and he gradually began to see objects appear around him in black and white.
Oliver then realized that he was in his room, and that the ocean of blankets was his bed, and he felt burning hot underneath his covers. As soon as he the spots disappeared from his vision, he found the energy to pull down the covers and sit up in his bed. He reached up with his hand and touched his face, and found that he had broken out in a cold sweat. His forehead was the source of all the flames that seemed to shoot through his body, and he realized that he had a terrible fever, probably one of about 103 degrees, considering the extremely hallucinogenic dream he just had. His whole back and the area of the sheet-covered mattress he slept on was soaking wet, and he felt miserable. Then he heard the door to his room open, and suddenly the darkened room lit up from the hallway light. He looked up to see his wife Susan standing in the doorway. She hadn't changed out of her work clothes, and Oliver guessed she must have gotten home not too long ago. What time is it, he thought? Or rather, what day is it?
"Oliver," she said with a worried look on her face, "Honey, are you alright? You've been asleep for hours, and it's only 9:45 in the evening. You're not sick, are you?" He was still woozy and could hardly speak because his throat stung and felt shredded, but he managed to get out, "Yeah, I'm sick, all right, and I just had the strangest dream. You wouldn't believe---" "Ssshhh, don't try to talk, you've got a really bad fever," she interrupted. "I'll be right back with some medicine for you. You just stay there, all right?" The door closed, and with the image of the little girl still fresh in his mind, he laid back and looked up at the dark ceiling, trying to imagine who she was.
3 comments:
Hey Jake, I wish that I could've had more interaction with Oliver but I realized that I could use your character to reveal some of my character's inner conflict. Unknowingly though, I did connect our characters through the mobster thing :)
On Sunday, the weekly card game came around. Mr. Wok was more excitable than usual due to the addition of Mamet to the group of older men. As per usual, Mrs. Wok supplied egg rolls for the group and Mr. Wok wore his cards on his face. Mr. Wok was a terrible player yet the men gathered week after week for the food, company, and cigars. During the card game, Mamet griped over the musty smell of the back room of the Tavern and the fact that he couldn’t seem to win a game. Occasionally, the men thought they heard something about “a rigged game” under his breath.
After about two hours of playing and $10 won, Everett and the other men decided to call it a night. Once Everett walked outside of the Tavern he spotted the man from the watch repair shop. He had never seen him outside of the shop but now he was with his sons. Oliver seemed tired but also intent on absorbing some of his sons’ energy and liveliness. Everett nodded in his direction remembering how he had repaired his father’s old pocket watch about a month before. Oliver smiled and gave Everett a wave in return.
Oliver’s sons were about the age of Everett’s daughter, Belinda, when he left to move to New York. While Everett moved to New York because of a very high-profile trial, he also left his family. In the end, Everett had the satisfaction of defending three innocent men involved in a mob-related shooting. One of the black and white photos on Everett’s wall was of himself and these three men, well dressed with big bellies, wearing fedoras and smiles on their faces. The success of the not guilty verdict brought him other clients involved in organized crime and with that, lots of money and fame in his field. Everett enjoyed the money and fame but was never fulfilled by what he did. He intended to keep in touch and visit his daughter as frequently as possible but now, as she had become a grown woman with a career of her own, the extent of their relationship lie in the greeting cards they sent each other on the appropriate occasions.
Everett was generally a very happy retiree. He had his hobbies and his memories but the knowledge that he was never close with his own daughter never sat well with him. The sight of Oliver with his own sons, so young, saddened Everett. Walking briskly over to the pharmacy/gift shop, Everett bought a box of plain stationary. The young woman at the counter said with a slight southern accent, “I’m so glad somebody still writes letters. Getting a letter in the mail is just lovely.” Once back in his apartment, Everett carefully wrote the letter and sealed it.
"Oliver was surrounded with darkness. He could not see the darkness, it just seemed dark because there was nothing around him. Except his bed, or at least the vast infinite ocean of blankets that seemed to be engulfing him every second." Wonderfully written. When I read this, I feel suffocated right along with Oliver.
I really liked this post, the descriptions of what oliver saw and felt in his quasi conscious state were excellent. The way you switched around from the visual, physical,and mental experience gave the reader an immersion in what Oliver was living, and it was written in a way that was realistic enough to resonate with the reader. "dark yellow spots" and "sudden, sporadic sensations of speed" are the kinds of descriptions that make the reader experience the text like a movie, instead of a screenplay.
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