Saturday, December 31, 2005
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Invisible Touch
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Ernie Maxwell lay awake in his bed. He hadn't been sleeping again, and it was the third time this week. He was having another one of his dreams, and trying to make sense of it. One of his dreams -- if you could call them that. Each one started out as foggy waves of color. He could usually see the image of a face through the mist. In some of the dreams, the face would become clearer, like an image through a camera lens coming into focus.
He had been having the dreams his whole life, or at least as far back as he could remember. Ernie had old journals -- as a child he had kept them hidden under a floorboard in his closet -- and the oldest ones recorded dreams even beyond his own memory. He had always had trouble sleeping, they told him. There had always been colors, but he hadn't always known what the colors meant. And there had always been two kinds of dreams -- the foggy waves of color and hazy images alone, and the color washed images which became clear and detailed as he watched them.
This was one of his hazy dreams, and he could barely see the face of a stranger. Man or woman, he couldn't see. Old or young, he couldn't tell. And it was dark -- everything was dark. Most of the dreams Ernie had were full of color, but in this one a gray haze surrounded everything. There was nothing but blackness in every detail. Ernie had had this kind of dream before, and he knew just what the grayness meant. This stranger was going to die.
It was a helpless feeling, not knowing who the victim was. Ernie wondered whether there anything he could have done. He felt a sense of duty to the people in his dreams, and then, often, a sense of betrayal. Why was this person going to die, Ernie thought. He couldn't see any details, had no way of knowing, and this made Ernie feel even more powerless. But it would be over soon, Ernie knew. He hoped it would be quick, painless. He mumbled a few words. Ernie didn't really believe in praying, but he did want to say goodbye.
"Go to your rest," he said. "Poor bastard."
The clock beside Ernie's bed read 2:15 A.M., he noticed. He tried hard to relax, but the trying defeated any feeling of relaxation. It was nearly an hour before his eyes finally closed and he was able to manage a few hours of sleep.
The same clock was beeping now. Ernie sometimes heard the alarm as he lay there drowsing, never having slept more than a couple of hours. This time it woke him up. He had been sleeping, he realized, and sleep was good. At least the night hadn't been a total loss, he thought. Ernie dragged himself into the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was only a push of a button away.
The garden style condominium was small but plenty big for one, and it was just him. The galley kitchen was just a few steps from a small eating area, which was little more than a corner of the living room. He had a table and two chairs, but he rarely used them. Ernie preferred to sit in one of the soft chairs by the fireplace. An end table held the remains of yesterday's coffee. He returned it to the sink. He would wash it later.
In the far corner were doorways to a full bathroom and Ernie's bedroom. Ernie took a shower and got dressed. It was Monday, his foggy brain told him, and he had classes to attend.
Ernie poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into a clean cup and took it into the living room. It was light out and he could see the bustle of the city through a sliding glass door. Freedom, Ernie thought. Cars full of people, going wherever they wanted. That was freedom, indeed.
These nightmarish dreams and visions were Ernie's private prison. He could go out there into the city, but all it took was to be around people and the foggy colored visions would come. Day or night, he couldn't control them, and they would physically overcome him. Driving a car was out of the question. He had learned that some time ago.
Ernie took another sip of coffee and set the large mug down in the same spot where yesterday's had been. An eerie feeling came over him, as if he had just completed some mystical circle of his life. And circular it seemed -- around and around, but there was no way out of the walls he had to hide himself behind.
His journal was lying on the floor under the table. Ernie picked it up and uncapped a pen.
"A few hours of sleep at least, but the dreams are still keeping me up at night," he wrote. "It was a black dream. I wonder who is going to die. Is it someone in the building? Is one of my neighbors going to spend their last day today, oblivious to their fate? Is it a voice from the radio? Could I have called in and warned them to... what would I have told them? And it was just a foggy dream. On the one hand I am getting more used to these. On the other hand I can't see what's happening. But that's really a good thing, isn't it?"
Ernie set down the journal and thought some more about the dream. It was a foggy vision of... somebody, could be anybody, anywhere. He knew that it was through direct physical contact with someone that he would receive a clear and detailed vision of their future. But the foggy visions -- they came from merely seeing or hearing someone, even over the radio. It was strange, and Ernie didn't understand it.
He felt very uncomfortable about these visions of other people's futures and he avoided them. Ernie avoided the physical contact especially. It was like catching a glimpse into the window of someone's private life, and he wished he could turn away, but it was everywhere he looked. His whole life had been filled with school buses, classrooms, museums, baseball fields, city streets -- they brought people together. And they were difficult to avoid.
Ernie remembered he wanted to call his grandparents today, but he would do that between classes. They had always been very close, but they didn't know anything about Ernie's affliction, as he considered it. It had been hard keeping such a secret from his family, and he didn't like doing it. It was just too strange and embarrassing and -- to Ernie, it just seemed impossible, but it was real.
There were friends all through his life, and he certainly couldn't tell any of them what was happening to him. His dreams made him different, and in childhood, anything different was simply unthinkable. Even now, he was about to turn twenty, but he still felt an overwhelming need to keep this problem of his hidden.
The school yard was now a college campus. He was just a few blocks from most of his classes, and he felt fortunate for that. But everywhere he turned, there were crowds of people. Anonymous, private -- but Ernie knew things about them that they didn't even know themselves. It was a terrible burden to Ernie and he did not enjoy it at all.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Ernie Maxwell lay awake in his bed. He hadn't been sleeping again, and it was the third time this week. He was having another one of his dreams, and trying to make sense of it. One of his dreams -- if you could call them that. Each one started out as foggy waves of color. He could usually see the image of a face through the mist. In some of the dreams, the face would become clearer, like an image through a camera lens coming into focus.
He had been having the dreams his whole life, or at least as far back as he could remember. Ernie had old journals -- as a child he had kept them hidden under a floorboard in his closet -- and the oldest ones recorded dreams even beyond his own memory. He had always had trouble sleeping, they told him. There had always been colors, but he hadn't always known what the colors meant. And there had always been two kinds of dreams -- the foggy waves of color and hazy images alone, and the color washed images which became clear and detailed as he watched them.
This was one of his hazy dreams, and he could barely see the face of a stranger. Man or woman, he couldn't see. Old or young, he couldn't tell. And it was dark -- everything was dark. Most of the dreams Ernie had were full of color, but in this one a gray haze surrounded everything. There was nothing but blackness in every detail. Ernie had had this kind of dream before, and he knew just what the grayness meant. This stranger was going to die.
It was a helpless feeling, not knowing who the victim was. Ernie wondered whether there anything he could have done. He felt a sense of duty to the people in his dreams, and then, often, a sense of betrayal. Why was this person going to die, Ernie thought. He couldn't see any details, had no way of knowing, and this made Ernie feel even more powerless. But it would be over soon, Ernie knew. He hoped it would be quick, painless. He mumbled a few words. Ernie didn't really believe in praying, but he did want to say goodbye.
"Go to your rest," he said. "Poor bastard."
The clock beside Ernie's bed read 2:15 A.M., he noticed. He tried hard to relax, but the trying defeated any feeling of relaxation. It was nearly an hour before his eyes finally closed and he was able to manage a few hours of sleep.
The same clock was beeping now. Ernie sometimes heard the alarm as he lay there drowsing, never having slept more than a couple of hours. This time it woke him up. He had been sleeping, he realized, and sleep was good. At least the night hadn't been a total loss, he thought. Ernie dragged himself into the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was only a push of a button away.
The garden style condominium was small but plenty big for one, and it was just him. The galley kitchen was just a few steps from a small eating area, which was little more than a corner of the living room. He had a table and two chairs, but he rarely used them. Ernie preferred to sit in one of the soft chairs by the fireplace. An end table held the remains of yesterday's coffee. He returned it to the sink. He would wash it later.
In the far corner were doorways to a full bathroom and Ernie's bedroom. Ernie took a shower and got dressed. It was Monday, his foggy brain told him, and he had classes to attend.
Ernie poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into a clean cup and took it into the living room. It was light out and he could see the bustle of the city through a sliding glass door. Freedom, Ernie thought. Cars full of people, going wherever they wanted. That was freedom, indeed.
These nightmarish dreams and visions were Ernie's private prison. He could go out there into the city, but all it took was to be around people and the foggy colored visions would come. Day or night, he couldn't control them, and they would physically overcome him. Driving a car was out of the question. He had learned that some time ago.
Ernie took another sip of coffee and set the large mug down in the same spot where yesterday's had been. An eerie feeling came over him, as if he had just completed some mystical circle of his life. And circular it seemed -- around and around, but there was no way out of the walls he had to hide himself behind.
His journal was lying on the floor under the table. Ernie picked it up and uncapped a pen.
"A few hours of sleep at least, but the dreams are still keeping me up at night," he wrote. "It was a black dream. I wonder who is going to die. Is it someone in the building? Is one of my neighbors going to spend their last day today, oblivious to their fate? Is it a voice from the radio? Could I have called in and warned them to... what would I have told them? And it was just a foggy dream. On the one hand I am getting more used to these. On the other hand I can't see what's happening. But that's really a good thing, isn't it?"
Ernie set down the journal and thought some more about the dream. It was a foggy vision of... somebody, could be anybody, anywhere. He knew that it was through direct physical contact with someone that he would receive a clear and detailed vision of their future. But the foggy visions -- they came from merely seeing or hearing someone, even over the radio. It was strange, and Ernie didn't understand it.
He felt very uncomfortable about these visions of other people's futures and he avoided them. Ernie avoided the physical contact especially. It was like catching a glimpse into the window of someone's private life, and he wished he could turn away, but it was everywhere he looked. His whole life had been filled with school buses, classrooms, museums, baseball fields, city streets -- they brought people together. And they were difficult to avoid.
Ernie remembered he wanted to call his grandparents today, but he would do that between classes. They had always been very close, but they didn't know anything about Ernie's affliction, as he considered it. It had been hard keeping such a secret from his family, and he didn't like doing it. It was just too strange and embarrassing and -- to Ernie, it just seemed impossible, but it was real.
There were friends all through his life, and he certainly couldn't tell any of them what was happening to him. His dreams made him different, and in childhood, anything different was simply unthinkable. Even now, he was about to turn twenty, but he still felt an overwhelming need to keep this problem of his hidden.
The school yard was now a college campus. He was just a few blocks from most of his classes, and he felt fortunate for that. But everywhere he turned, there were crowds of people. Anonymous, private -- but Ernie knew things about them that they didn't even know themselves. It was a terrible burden to Ernie and he did not enjoy it at all.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
