Torn Realities

by Post Mortem Press

  "Forrest, what the hell is going on? What do you want from me?"

  "I know you've been different. A little depressed?"

  "Forrest, I haven't seen you in months. How could you possibly make an assessment like that?"

  "Because you were depressed long before I went into seclusion. You have been ever since that night. Ever since that party. The one with the trances."

  "What does this have to do with anything?"

  "The places you saw when you were hypnotized: you told me they were places you also saw in your dreams."

  "I was faking, Forrest. I wasn't in a trance. I never saw anything."

  "Yes you did."

  I groaned. Bad liars and people with excellent recall should never be friends.

  "Okay, so what if I did?"

  "It makes you the perfect trial subject," he replied.

  "For what?"

  "My glorious vision is now a reality, my friend. Now that I've succeeded, there will be no more school for me. I'm going to be filthy stinking rich!"

  "Shouldn't your trial subject get some of that fortune?" I asked.

  "You'll get more than money out of it. Just imagine seeing all of those worlds from your dreams again. But you won't just see them; you'll really be there. You'll feel the breeze, taste the water, you could ever rule the place if you wanted. I remember you telling me about Lesoneth: that place of towers and treasures where you could change the colors and command the people. You haven't seen it since that party, have you?"

  I didn't want to admit it, but he was right. I hadn't seen Lesoneth or any other dream world for three years. Each night that passed in total darkness depressed me more and more. Still, I shrugged it off.

  "It's not a big deal, Forrest. I don't need crazy adventure dreams anymore. I'm not a kid."

  "You weren't exactly a kid then either, but you still enjoyed those dreams, didn't you? Wouldn't like to see Lesoneth again? After all this time?"

  "Lots of people have crazy dreams. What makes you think I'd be the best trial subject?"

  "You were the only who said I could do it. Maybe you didn't really believe it could be done, but you didn't discourage me like everyone else. And you were right. The Dream Machine is complete! I have triumphed!" He slammed his fist on the table, causing it to wobble. "Well? Will you help me?"

  "Have you done it?"

  "Of course I have. How else would I know it works?"

  "What happened?"

  "I didn't really see anything, but I've never been a big dreamer; not while asleep anyway. But you! You, my friend, you dream all the time."

  "I used to."

  "If you did once, you can again. You're one of the lucky ones. You'll see so much more than I did."

  "How does it work? What kind of machine is your 'Dream Machine'?"

  "Do you wish to see it?" he asked through a face-crinkling grin. "Will you take a ride?"

  "I'll take a look first," I replied. "Then I'll decide if I wish to do more."

  "Frankly, I'm surprised. I thought you'd jump at the chance to delve into your dream worlds again."

  "They're not mine anymore. They're gone, Forrest."

  "No, they're only lost. The Dream Machine will help you find them again."

  "I'll take a look at the thing. That's all I'm promising right now."

  With a yip, he grabbed me by the hand and started towing me behind him.

  "Wait, I have a class at four!" I exclaimed.

  "You'll want to skip it, believe me. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

  "You're being pretty presumptuous. I haven't agreed to anything except a peek."

  "That's all you'll need," he replied and hauled me out the door.

  Forrest's father had passed away two years prior and left him the house in his will. After all that time, it still had the look of parental ownership. The extreme cleanliness was uncharacteristic for a man in his early twenties and the pictures and knick-knacks on the walls gave the living room an eerie, homey glow. It was as if the upstairs of the house was waiting for Mr. Culver to return, but the basement was a different story. It was littered with scribbled notes, random pieces of machinery, and empty coffee mugs. I maneuvered through the clutter to a door Forrest opened with a dramatic sigh. I half expected light to pour out of the room and bathe us in his brilliance, but the room was just as dark and cluttered as the rest of the basement. A large lump sat covered in the corner, and I assumed it was the Dream Machine by the way Forrest crept up on it as if it were a sleeping beast.

  He grasped the covering and, with a theatrical yank, he ripped the bedsheet away. He waited in a "Ta-Da" pose for my awe, but it was difficult to be awed by a Honda Civic; a rather ordinary Civic at that. There were no extra antennae or additions to the instrument panel; nothing that made it appear more spectacular than a random used car. I figured I'd been duped.

  "Is this a joke?"

  "It's no joke. This is it: my amazing Dream Machine."

  "It looks like a normal car."

  "That's what so amazing!" he exclaimed. "It looks like a run-of-the-mill car, but it's so much more. It's your own personal escort into the fathoms of your many dream worlds."

  "Does it run on gasoline?"

  "Blood, sweat, and tears, my friend," Forrest said as he laid a caring hand upon the hood of his precious machine. "Blood, sweat, and tears. Care for a ride?"

  I was unable to imagine where the ride would take me. Forrest was right about my dreaming, but I hadn't told him everything. I'd never disclosed the nightmares; those omissions were what terrified me most as I stared at the Honda Civic, but the bumper sticker "Real Men Love Jesus" didn't help matters. Then I thought of the good dreams: the beautiful, golden worlds that enveloped me in reassuring arms for so long. I missed those dreams, the ones that made me feel like I was finally home and worlds in which I knew every twist and turn and rosy-cheeked citizen. I did want to see Lesoneth again. Desperately. After going into the trance, I never glimpsed it again and I missed my land. I missed my people. If the machine did what he claimed, maybe I really could go there again. Like Forrest said, I could feel it. I could taste it. I could rule it.

  "The journey isn't enough," I stated and he reacted as though my eyeball had suddenly popped out of my skull. "I want a cut of the cash this thing generates."

  "How much?"

  "I'll give you a figure when I get back."

  "Does that mean you'll do it?"

  "You were right, Forrest. Ever since that party, I've been hopelessly depressed. I can't shake it. If this thing works the way you say, I think I could find happiness again. I think I could rule again."

  He clapped his hands and did a little jig. He was so ecstatic, he could hardly spit out the words, "Take a seat."

  I didn't know if I needed a seatbelt for such a bizarre expedition, but I clicked it closed anyway. He handed me the key and told me to start the engine as he closed the door with another jig.

  "Keep the parking brake on and the car in neutral. Then, press the gas."

  When I started the car, he jumped back a few paces and laughed. When I revved the engine, his mouth snapped shut, but his giggle continued.

  "Forrest?"

  "I'll see you when you get back," he replied through closed lips.

  I faced forward, and as if driving through a tidal wave, my surroundings were suddenly washed away. The basement, Forrest, and every tiny sign of his obsession was gone and I found myself in choking darkness. I hugged the wheel and trembled. Petrified, I sat with my foot hovering above the gas pedal until a spot of white streaked past my left side. The shock shoved my foot against the pedal and the car flew forward into the inky abyss. As I progressed, however, the abyss became less inky. White streaks whizzed past me in all directions. Even though I'd removed my foot from the pedal, the car rode smoothly. There was a lump of fear lodged in my throat, but with the blanching of the darkness, it started to soften. Before long, there was more white than black. Without floor or walls, the ivory empti
ness should have been just terrifying, but I was comforted by the colors in the distance. I nudged the gas pedal and the Dream Machine hummed as it pushed toward the pastels.

  Another wave crashed over the car, but that time, I felt it. It knocked me back like a shot a whiskey with just as much of a woozy daze. I didn't even notice the car lowering to an island covered in intersecting streams until the tires bounced against the ground. The silver buildings were clustered just how I remembered them when they were mine. I pushed open the door and leapt onto Lesoneth's granite ground.

  "Sarah!" I screamed. "Sarah, where are you?"

  She appeared in the doorway of a stunted house, leaning against the door as if labored by standing. She clung to the door frame and blinked slowly as my face returned to her memory.

  "You came back? How?" she asked.

  "I wanted to come back a thousand times. I tried, but I couldn't. After the last time, I was blocked somehow. I didn't want to abandon Lesoneth. I don't know what happened."

  "You shouldn't have come back the last time. You shouldn't be here now. You've doomed us all."

  "What are you talking about? You said I was Lesoneth's savior, that I made the rules."

  "You were a child when I said that. Perhaps all of us were children too. You had an ability like we'd never seen: a gift of architecture and magic. But you didn't tell us about the darkness in you. You didn't tell us what kind of nightmare realms you traversed when you weren't here. We trusted you and now we will pay the price."

  "I don't understand," I replied and she looked at me doubtfully. "Everyone has nightmares. I'm no different, am I?"

  "Even if you weren't, you've broken the rules twice now. First using a trance to come here and now using some kind of machine. What is that thing anyway, besides the herald of our doom?"

  "What's so terrible about it?"

  "You can't visit that way," she said. "It has to be natural. You as our supposed savior should have known that. I was wrong to give you the power I did. You weren't Lesoneth's savior. You were our destroyer."

  "Don't say that," I said in a rush. "For three years, my dreams have been empty. My life has been a pit of despair. Sleep doesn't satisfy me, and I can't concentrate on school. I'm depressed all the time."

  "At least breaking the rules ruined your life too."

  "I refuse to believe that. This is my dream world. I make the rules."

  "Unfortunately, you're absolutely right about that," Sarah replied. She clutched the door even tighter and shuddered, "She's coming."

  "Who?"

  "You."

  The watery avenues rippled and the stone shook. Sarah retreated inside and turned the lock, but I stood my ground. Lesoneth was my world, and no one was going to take it from me. Not even...

  The woman was more beautiful than me, but she was me, right down to the mole on her second toe; she made sure to show me as she danced forward. When she stopped, the rumble continued and I hardly had time to yelp before a swarm of gray creatures flooded past me. While my doppelganger smiled adoringly, her beasts dove into the buildings lining Lesoneth's riverbanks. One of the creatures erupted from Sarah's house and dragged her out by her hair. I jumped to free her, but the beast snarled me back. The thin lids peeled back from its bulbous, ivory eyeballs and when it gnashed its black fangs, steaming drool dripped to the ground.

  "Who are you?" I asked the woman with my face.

  She cackled and the demons hissed into the faces of their respective prisoners. Each Lesoneth denizen was as gaunt and afraid as Sarah, but no one fought back. The beautiful woman advanced as if made of the ocean and gently caressed my face.

  "Go home," she said. "This isn't your world anymore. It's mine."

  "I won't."

  With her eyes glued to mine, she whispered to her minions, "Kill them."

  The creatures exploded into a feasting frenzy: tearing flesh from bone and mashing faces into batter; except for the beast holding Sarah. She sobbed as her people fell dead around her and the creatures started destroying the buildings. The Beautiful Me sung to herself as blood and silver fell and the rivers became so clogged with debris, they flooded the streets.

  "Why are you doing this?" I demanded.

  "Why are you?"

  "I'm not doing anything," I said, but when Sarah tugged on my arm, I looked down to see her hair balled in my fist.

  I released her with a shriek and she collapsed to the ground.

  "How did you do that? You're not even real. You're just---just---"

  "What am I? Go on. Say it," the beautiful woman urged.

  "You're my unconscious," I said the realization making me cold all over. Was this what Professor Langley had meant? Was this what Freud had meant?

  Sarah tried to run away, but my doppelganger caught her by the throat.

  "Bring me a table," she said and the creatures scattered away, laughing at me. "Go home, girl. Jump in your little bandit machine and go."

  "I won't leave Sarah," I said.

  "She'll die either way, but if you stay, she'll suffer for a long time before then."

  The beasts returned with a dining room table that the woman slammed Sarah upon. Chains coiled around her wrists and ankles and locked her to the tabletop while Beautiful Me handed a suitcase to her minions. It was so large I couldn't help but imagine the diversity and multitude of the torture devices inside.

  "I'm not going anywhere," I said, and the suitcase popped open.

  "I thought not," she hummed.

  The pliers were first. The beautiful woman watched in satisfaction as her beasts grabbed their instruments and dove at the table to get the first pull. Blood squirted and rolled down her cheeks as they yanked and bashed her with the pliers. Sarah's screams were loud, but they weren't as loud as Beautiful Me. Her laughter pounded my ear drums, even though she remained tight-lipped. Meanwhile, Sarah lost her lips altogether. As the demons danced around her body, shrieking in nightmarish joy, I gazed into the other woman's eyes: my own eyes. In that gaze, the violence was just some barbaric play that kept me glued to the edge of my seat, begging for more. How horrifying and alluring that life was, like the gift of knowing that every dark, dormant thought made me feel alive for the first time ever.

  The sound of splintering metal broke the spell and I saw Sarah, breaking out of her chains. Her face was shredded beyond recognition and blood poured over her jaws as she struggled for breath, but despite her injuries, her strength soared. She smacked several creatures away like mosquitoes before lunging at Beautiful Me standing with arms unfolded for embrace. When Sarah landed on her, my own body jerked and caused me to retaliate; I had no choice. I leapt on top of her and wrenched her away from my doppelganger. During our brawl, there were moments when I somehow still felt the steering wheel beneath my palms but I felt Sarah's neck most of all, cracking in my grip, and I banished the sensation of gripping the steering wheel..

  "Why are you doing this?" her waning breath asked and I answered with no control over my tongue.

  "There was so much in that suitcase, so many possibilities. Why couldn't you just stay put so I could see them all? Why couldn't you suffer for me?"

  I shook her until she was a limp noodle in my fists. The beasts wheezed in amusement and applauded me. I felt my own hand on my shoulder as she patted me on the back, and I despised how wonderful it felt. I grasped the woman's fingers and bent them back. It hurt my hand too, but she was the only one to yowl. After a happy snap, she wilted. Her devils dove at me, but their faces met razor-sharp fingers; at the collision, my nails slid under their gray skin and sheared their skulls. I leapt from beast to beast, ripping their flesh to ribbons and sucking their bones to the marrow while they were still alive to feel it.

  "Finish them off," the Beautiful Me, still on the ground, said, and I shook my head.

  "But it's what you want: to feel, to taste, to rule. You want to see how it ends, don't you?"

  "No!" I screamed, and with claws slashing, I threw myself against her.


  My mind tumbled, half in blood and half in dream. Such violence twisted throughout my body, I didn't think even a sliver remained of the woman who'd turned the Dream Machine's key. But while she and I, twin soldiers, battled, one rebel glance revealed to me a remaining sliver of my mind, still sitting in the car. A piece of me--the waking me? the real me? the idealized me? the splintering had fractured my thinking--remained in the Dream Machine, begging to leave, but she couldn't leave without me--the rest of me.

  I dashed away from Beautiful Me, but I didn't get far before the skinless creatures caught hold. They gnashed their ebony teeth and the reeking froth running down their chins nearly knocked me out. I collapsed, but I saved my consciousness for punching out their knees. It felt so good: busting a hole so large that femurs crashed into ankles. The moment I won the upper hand, I should have run for the car, but I found myself captivated by my massacre. I didn't want to leave it behind. I wanted more.

  "You can have it," my unconsciousness said. "You will have it. So will many others."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A lot of people are going to use that Dream Machine. They will return from their dreams changed. They will return with a passenger. Just as Forrest did. Just as you will."

  "Forrest? He said he didn't see anything when he used the Machine."

  "You'll say that too," she replied.

  "I don't believe you. I don't want this. I'm not you."

  "Then I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting away," she said and grabbed my arm.

  When I slapped her, my claws dug into her face and tore her confidence away, along with the flesh. Somehow, she still grimaced. Sloppy muscle curled up her cheeks and she released me with a hissing cackle. I sped back to the car and threw myself inside. Back in the driver's seat, I felt like myself again; there was no snap of my fragments fusing, it just was. Only hints of the strange hunger from my unconsciousness remained, chanting "more", but I ignored it as best I could. Forward and reverse did nothing, so I grasped the key and started to turn it.

  "Are you sure that's the way to get home?" she asked with her pulpy face pressed against my window. "You could make things even worse."