“I’m just so grateful to be with you” Mark exclaimed to the shadowy figure.
Mark received no response in return. They seem to never respond, just fleeting bits of Mark’s desperate imagination. He could feel a slight pressure on his chest and arms as he embraced the figure with all the fervor of a man drowning and clinging onto the only life preserver. He hugged the figure for however long he was allowed to, but soon a multitude of piercing lights speared through the black empty landscape that surrounded the couple. Mark didn't want to let go, he wanted to stay in this reality forever. Despite the sheer emptiness of this world, Mark felt like everything that he ever wanted was just behind the curtains. The missing pieces of his life lay lost in this dream world and he instinctively knew it. If only it would reveal itself to him. Yet, as the light rapidly consumed this world, all Mark could do was hold on.
Mark slowly opened his eyes, allowing more and more sunlight to pierce it. He lay there for a few minutes, slowly digesting what he had just gone through. There was a sense of urgency showing on his face. Like he was back in high school taking another one of the many midterms he didn't study for. Grasping at any knowledge that he could scrape up from his memories. Mark wanted to remember every detail of the dream he just had. The sense of joy and hope that could rival even the most joyous of celebrations. The mysterious figure that seemed to give him these foreign experiences. And lastly, the seconds before he woke, the feeling of overwhelming anguish and despair. Soon, an emptiness started to fill Mark’s mind as he pondered the last of his memories of the dream. The emptiness pervaded his body so thoroughly that it was as if he and it were one and the same. Mark could hear the tick-tock of a clock in the background. Birds chirped in the distance, awakened from their stupor to the same piercing light Mark had just experienced. Furthermore, shouts of joy and triumph leaked through his walls which further interrupted his drowsy state.
He glanced up at the cheap plastic clock positioned above and to the right of his box TV. The light from outside perfectly revealed the clock hands, showing that it was 5:15 p.m. He groped around for his phone like he had done countless times before getting out of bed. Finally finding it under one of his pillows, he turned it on and checked his notifications.
1 text message greeted him. It was his boss asking when they could talk. The text was a paragraph long and the sympathy oozing out of the message surprised Mark. He knew he shouldn't be too surprised, seeing as his boss let him take as much time off as he needed. Mark left his boss on read and mustered enough energy to barely get out of bed. He didn't want to think about work right now. His bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor with a resounding thud. He shivered as the cold air finally made its presence known as he stood up. His thoughts were empty now. A practice that most people could never master in their lifetime. Yet, Mark had unwittingly become fluent in actively ignoring his own thoughts.
He started walking towards the bathroom. His strides are evenly spaced out and mechanical in nature. Instincts and habits have taken over his body as they puppeteered his arms and legs through his “morning” routine. Mark had a modest bathroom, one stand-in shower, and a petite toilet and sink. Both have been heavily used and are in need of cleaning.
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He started to brush his teeth, instinctually avoiding his own gaze reflected back from the mirror. The jarring bite of the minty toothpaste didn't faze him a bit as he continued the back-and-forth motion of his toothbrush. It only took him a few minutes to be done with his routine. His clothes were already picked out for him, lying on one of his kitchen chairs. A nondescript black t-shirt, jeans, and undergarments greeted Mark. As he was getting them on, he caught glimpses of movement outside of his window. He couldn't see much, since most of his view was blocked by a thick black-out curtain. He could see bits and pieces of yellow metal and small child-like appendages flailing around on a bed of brown woodchips. Shadows danced around on his floor, a grim reminder of his dreams. Finally, as Mark finished dressing himself and his routine completed, he set about obtaining a pad and a pen. He had set them on the kitchen table the night before. He started writing down his letter to the world. His thoughts overflowed onto the pad. A dam breaking in his mind. There was so much he wanted to say, but didn’t know how to articulate them. It was like knowing how to speak a different language but not knowing how to write it. A fleeting memory of him sitting in Spanish class came to his mind. He barely scraped by in that class. Opting to sulk in the back of the class and doodle. He finished writing his letter with a practiced flourish of his signature at the end. He wouldn't know what his family's reactions would be when they saw this, but hopefully, they would be understanding. Mark grabbed an envelope from the kitchen table and placed the letter inside. He hesitated before sealing it closed.
There was so much more left unsaid.
However, he had a schedule to follow so he placed the letter on his bed. Satisfied with the placement of his letter, he put on his shoes and walked out his front door, car keys in hand.
“Click”
His car obediently unlocks the driver's side door.
“Click”
The rest of the doors unlock simultaneously. Mark put away his keys and grabbed the one item he had come for. It lay in the passenger's seat, coiled up like a viper ready to pounce. He gingerly grabbed it and closed the door. It felt rough in his hands as if he was shaking the calloused hands of a carpenter. Mark soon felt comfortable enough to fully grasp its curves and grooves and he confidently walked back towards his apartment. As he walked back, he noticed that the sun had seemingly no effect on him any longer. Its piercing light seemed to bounce off him instead of through. He reached his door and opened it with a feeling of finality.
“Swish”
“Creak”
“Swish”
“Creak”
Mark could hear a swishing noise. Followed by a creaking one. It was background noise to the utter cacophony of visions assaulting him. First, he was a tiny kid playing with legos in a living room that seemed eerily familiar. Next, he was kicking a soccer ball past a goalie and into the net behind. Then, he was on the ground submitting to an unknown bully. His body heaving for air, exhausted. A slow beeping sound could now be heard; Mark could see a sick middle-aged woman breathing her last breath. He saw countless visions. Snippets of conversations, memories buried under years of neglect, and all the while the edges of each and every vision were slowly becoming more opaque. Lastly, he saw his current self. Wearing non-descript clothing and looking strangely peaceful. His eyes, vacant, stared out onto his small studio apartment. There was no other movement other than the gentle swish of his body moving side to side. His strings cut, and he could no longer move. Soon, his vision faded away and all that was left to see was a black empty void.