Who is she to me? Who is she?
Dreamed Woes
Survival Instinct
Mon 11/20/17 4:27 a.m.
Walking through a black forest shakes trepidation through this vessel. I just walk from some unknown location to the warm comfort of my home, each step concluding in pain, as branches thick and dense scratch up every square inch of open flesh. The continual movement through this underbrush offers a constant reminder of what hides just out of sight in the utter darkness all around. The unavoidable trip over an up-turned root or impact with a hearty low hanging branch adds punishment to my circuitous, wandering journey. I need some way to escape this blind torment — a slight reprieve from this suffering — just something, anything to change this sightless wandering.
A deep thumping moves through the forest floor and into my very bones. The need to brace myself to the strength of a behemoth tree possesses my deliberate action. My touch turns into a hug that becomes a death grip with another mighty, ground shaking vibration. A light reflecting back onto the trees — showing their full depth and complexity — grows with the intensity of a dozen suns in the utter darkness of this endless night. A menacing, throaty, animalistic roar from the omnidirectional distant wood sends a shiver down my spine, raising hair as if preceding electromagnetic discharge. An unwitting glance in the general direction blinds and reveals. I will and force my body to unleash the hold upon this mighty protector, this sentinel of a tree. I reluctantly gaze at the source of bright emanations floating ahead of this feeble body. The illumination acts as a giant obfuscation of my true savior, whatever form of creature may yet it be? I approach with a heart halting terror and unbridled curiosity, unhindered by neither. This encroachment continues until the ultimate conclusion of facing this thing.
The light fades to a faint glimmer of the once magnificent beacon, facing me with the stuff of nightmares — a monstrous feline form waiting to tear meat from bone. The shiny salivating mouth, at the ready, takes no action except to show itself. I feel this undeniable need to touch the top of its slick, black hair covered head, so much so that I just do it. Combing my fingers through the thick, luxurious fur that encompasses this unearthly beast coaxes purrs of the cat’s pleasure. The agape mouth recedes to that of a happy kitten with no interest in ingesting my delicate flesh. Another one of pure white enters the clearing, looking for some unknown treasure. The newcomer requests the same tender moment by displaying its gentle face near that of the other. I indulge the arrival with the same strokes to receive the much needed safety and security. With each stroke, the wild and feral nature of these beasts transforms into the kinder, gentler forms of pet cats with diminutive size.
The two cats pull back as if something calls their attention away from this. They move past me deeper into the overly dense growth. I follow as they are now my acolytes in the unfamiliar terrain, giving myself over to their animalistic instinct with no other recourse than belief in their prerogative. I trust them implicitly as sheep lend themselves to the whim of the herder. They move from branch to branch with a graceful ease, occasionally leaping to the ground without faltering. The white lioness, the feline is bombarded with distraction meant to disrupt — wandering thoughts of something unknown. She flees at some indiscernible input abandoning him and me. I follow the member of our party devoted to our mutual interest, getting me out of these accursed woods. We approach a house of black smoking chimney and yellow glow through window. He makes himself comfortable here, a sign for me to enter the hidden, secret chambers within. He swiftly climbs an overhanging tree, drops down upon the lowest eaves, and curls up onto a ball. A peaceful slumber is the lofty goal of this lowly, once majestic creature.
Entering the bleak, sterile innards of this home leaves something to be desired besides modernity. The organic, although dark forms outside provide more of a comfort than this… barren cold. I go through the myriad of metallic cabinets and bins, looking at everything and searching for nothing. The white floor offers the only change from this… storage on every side. I pantomime my way around the room, searching the cold walls for the misplaced door, failing at a hidden compartment or any other such thing. The cold leaches into my hands, trying to rip my very essence away. I stop in futility. A noise startles me into looking one way. The cold at my back melts away to nothingness. A look back offers nothing, except black air surrounding this body. The limited surroundings are no more. Trying to escape the whiteness below, running into the dark proves this space inescapable.
Somethings come out of the black void and surround me in tight ring after ring. The objects flicker into life showing him to me, the black feline lounging above in various states — anything from growling to purring, eating to sleeping, back arching to scratching, and hunting for some elusive prey. The images send me through waves of reflected emotion. The scratching comes to gradual focus. The images look too real for my own good, the scratches too close. The hot searing pain cries out from every part of my outsides. The resulting outflow of blood provides a limited relief. I just want and need this perpetual torment to cease! This unavoidable pain must come to an end. I just have to get out! I welcome the sweet slumber of sleep that is death alone.
(—)
I awake to the sound of a slamming door. The support of my skin and bed comfort me, the horrific nightmare over. Another memory dream came to me, a long awaited double-edged sword. My newly discovered answers will make up for this treatment. I take a few deep breathes to calm myself and return to who I am. A few more returns me to…
Pieces of a Puzzle
Mon 11/20/17 8:09 a.m.
I write in my journal everything I remember from last night — that dream, the long one. I stop half-finished, as someone enters, someone new.
“Hi, Conor. I’m your new memory guide Sarah Mulligan.”
I try to smile but every facial muscle twinges with the scratches from last night, no matter how imagined. “Nice to meet you, Sarah.”
She leans a shoulder into the doorframe. “I’ll be taking over your case from Charlotte.”
“What happened to Charlotte anyway?” I stand across from her.
Sarah nods a little in understanding. “Charlotte has the important duty of get our new guests acclimated to the Process. She handles the basic recovery of memories. From now on, you’re in my capable hands.”
“Do you have any idea what mulligan means? It sounds familiar.”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “I couldn’t even tell you myself. The family name has been passed down a handful of generations.”
“It seems to mean having a chance to do something over again. What do you think about that?” I just put it out there for consideration.
“No matter the amount of hints, I still can’t remember.” Her words of annoyance don’t match the calm face or tone.
“Thanks for trying.” That attempt at making small talk backfired.
“Are you ready to go to the memory session?”
My deflated voice takes over. “Yes.”
While we talk, I notice a lot about her. Her mood color-changing hair turned a deep red when she smiled. As we keep talking, it subdues to a lighter shade. The shade becomes darker with happiness. That mean’s one thing, supposedly a practicing meditator with the ability to change endorphin levels on a whim. I don’t believe that for a second. There is no way that is possible. They can make themselves happy just by wanting it. That doesn’t make any sense. She has a white shirt and khaki shorts, maybe too casual.
Something about her feels familiar, but what? I can’t remember her. The level of ease with her means something. I go in through the door following Sarah.
“How is the Process going?”
I sit on the couch. “Everything is working. These dreams are getting to me. They are intense and scary as anything. Can’t you do something about it?” Anything?
Sarah paces the room before the couch with her shoes off. “You’re experiencing the symbolism of dreams. The unconscious mind, the p
rimary designer of these dreams creates a nightmarish place. It chooses a pleasant beginning to get you in the dream. The conscious mind requires incentive in the first few minutes to live out the dream. After this point, ending the dream internally reduces to chance. Then the unconscious turns the dream into what it wants.” Sarah throws her hands behind her back.
“Can you just take out the bad parts?”
“That is difficult to do in your case or any case. You need these dreams to recover your memories. Dreaming is important to maintain proper brain function. Eliminating it for too long is a negative for your health.”
A deep breath throws away the dread for now. “Okay. I can deal with it. How do I use these outdoor privileges I’ve heard so much about?"
“Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
I nod vigorously. “Yes.”
She chuckles at something, probably my answer. “It can be too much after being inside for almost a month. We can try it.”
“Good.”
Sarah pushes her feet back into her shoes, grabs my hand, and leads me away, going faster and faster. It feels good racing through this hallway. A wide grin appears across my face. We slow down at the end of the hall. We are here.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes!”
She presses a switch to open the door. The bright light streams in, offering only a glimpse before the brightness washes everything outside to white. Instinctively covering my eyes to protect them intensifies the only thing pleasant, the cool breeze flowing in. This is a refreshing change from the constant 72 degrees. I open myself to the view of ferns covering the ground sparkling with the newly fallen rain. The trees provide the walls and roofing. A dirt trail leads out to the street and a walkway around the Center.
A few tentative steps out lowers me down the stairs below. The spots of sunlight able to reach me, feel great. I walk slowly along the uneven muddy path, the ground firm and forgiving. The looping path makes me want to just go faster. Faster? Yes. I take off jogging and end up running flat out. This is the freest I’ve been in a long time. The air moving right through me is the best, just whisking my heat away.
My sad body barely handles it, and I launch myself into the bench out front, slouching over my knees, breathing hard to ease the burning muscles. Sarah comes to join from waiting for me to return.
“I didn’t expect that. You just took off.” She looks down the path.
Heavy breathing interrupts anything I say. “Yeah, I just… feel stronger… being out… here. It’s… refreshing.”
Sarah furrows her brows. “I hope you didn’t want me to follow.”
“No.” I try laughing but no sound escapes. “I won’t… collapse… or anything.”
“Good. Are you ready for the session?”
“Sure.”
“Let's head in.”
I go in and wait for Sarah to close the door. She leads me down the hall and holds open a door with her name on it, something I never spied before. A look inside shows a fully white room, the walls and furniture white. The floor covered in a thick brown affair. Entering the room turns the wall beige. Just inside the door a white wall desk hangs, inlaid with glass sections. The floor below appears through said sections. I go and lie down on the middle couch surrounded by two armchairs. Sarah shuts the door and slips off her shoes.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Sarah looks for something on the array of screens, stops, just looks attentively at the desk, and she finds something. I just make myself comfortable. Lying down is for the best. I end up falling over during these sessions. This is a much better way to do it. Sarah crosses the room for the chair there. My hand rests over my head. The couch arm acts like a big pillow.
“I have everything we need to get started. I see you have made yourself comfortable.”
“I’m all set.” I stare intently up after lowering my arm.
“Do you mind if I hold your hand? It helps some people feel more secure. It could also prevent the memory recovery state from starting.”
“It’s not a prob.”
Sarah starts speaking. Her usual voice is less soothing and harsher. “You are going to go back to the moment this dream represents. Allow yourself to fully remember the dream from last night. Allow it to expand within you. Allow anything connected to the dream to come out. Allow these memories to come back to you. Trust yourself. Trust the Process. Trust your memories. Allow it all…”
Assimilation
New Faces
Mon 5/1/17 6:30 a.m.
I am at the beach — everything dark, except for the moon. Its light suffuses like a bright candle, in a completely dark landscape highlighting water and earth. The bright, pure light emanating from its heart cascades, segmented over the dark water as it sets. My feet hide buried in the sand just in the wet area. The warm waters break over the sand and my ankles. The moon starts transforming, becoming more elongated and oval. It turns into a complex shape, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The moon comes closer and gets brighter while the light grows warmer and gentler. I grab its out stretched hand and pull myself up. The hold, leads me into the water. We get into water deep enough that I can barely reach the bottom and shut my eyes. The moonlight culminates in brightness and almost fades away through covered eyes. I open my visuals to the almost set moon.
The beach beckons before the evanescent ethereal light. I am held fast to the seafloor by the hard, cold of steel against my ankles. All my strength writhes in a desperate attempt to swim away, with no fighting it. I stay here as all other options betray me. The water starts moving in waves, gradually rising. I can’t move higher in the water — my bondage has seen to that. The water’s at my chin and elevating. I take one big breath and dive, to investigate my feet bound with an inescapable ring of iron. Lunging to the surface proves too far. My arms barely reach let alone my head. I struggle to get my breath, to no avail. Involuntarily, I breathe out.
(—)
I awaken with the cool sunglassed light of sunrise on my face. Eyes open to see my apartment and the tinted sky through my window. A halo of sunlight casts the sky brilliant with a warm spectrum of color as seen through the unveiled sunroof. The reds and pinks standoff against the pale blue in the shadow cast clouds. The alarm goes off in 10. I get ready for the day, thinking about the view this morning. How can I see the sun when it’s that low? A building sits in the way. What happens to the dark corridors between buildings? Yes! I know about the reflective coating on buildings that render them invisible. This allows the sky in. I look out the wall sized window surrounded by a stairway of bookshelves — the pin-window reincarnate. Everywhere I look, the same sunrise vista. My dark t-shirt, many pocketed pants, and black shoes work for the first day back.
"A call from Dr. Mekova."
"Ready to pick it up."
A screen appears between the front door and me, just floating in midair. I resist every temptation to touch it.
"Hi, Conor. How is everything going?"
I immediately recognize her standing in the screen — her high arched nose, perfect amidst her flattened out cheeks. "No problems, except I can't reach anyone I know."
"People go on vacations… no contact zones, all the time. Constant distraction over-taxes them. They just need a break.” She spins around to her computer in a brightly lit study. She comes back around. “Is the tech accepting the medicine on schedule?"
"It says hold dosage for something I can't remember."
She continues from memory. "It looks like you need less memory enhancer since last week. I also see you are getting better, as the tech assist reduced." Her smile grows wider with each passing second.
"I haven't even seen a difference."
She considers me standing there all this time. "That’s a good sign.”
"Do you have any idea, how to use the computer." I move off to one side, revealing the glass-topped desk at the far end of the apartment.
She scratches her temple. "I haven’t us
ed a S7 in years. I wouldn't be of much help. Actually, most of the other researchers have S7's."
"All ready for work." I pull my arms to my sides.
"Are you sure you don't have any more questions?"
I shake no. "Nope, that's everything."
"I’ll see you at work then. Remember it is the fifth floor, research department." She drags out the reminder a little.
(—)
Here is the Research Department. I enter a very strange hallway. At least ten doors wait on either side. Which door? Just take the plunge.
I look at such a big sterile space, filled with boxes on towering shelves. Someone stands a few feet away. As I get closer to ask for directions, I see how cavernous the space is.
An airy conference room just after this warehouse space shows the back wall and an office above connected with a staircase. Dr. Mekova continues an up until now unheard announcement from the top landing.
Her voice echoes through my ears, as through everyone here, "… as always, If you need any equipment, let me know. Have a great day." Dr. Mekova comes down and everyone leaves except me.
"Good morning, again, Dr. Abby." She swiftly shakes my hand.
"Hi."
Without her doctor’s coat, she feels more approachable. "I will have you confirm some info before you start working. Let us go up to my office and get started."
(—)
She sits behind her desk in the office overlooking every corner of the Research Department. The entirely glass desk separates us while a monitor covers half her face, lighting it in pale blue."I’m going to review all the info and you can confirm it. Okay?"
"I’m not sure how much I remember." A movement from my right peripheral vision turns my head to the unheard bubbling of an aquarium swimming with tropical fish. I return to Mekova.
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