Interpretation

by Dylan Callens

  Carl trampolined off the concrete floor. He hurdled over a chair that was in his path. With a quick yank, he grasped the woman’s shirt, demanding to know, “What is that?”

  The woman continued mumbling, taking no notice of Carl’s presence.

  “Tell me what you are saying.” Carl shook her. “Is it a song? Why do I know it?” Carl shook her harder with each word.

  From behind, an orderly took out his wand. “Move away from her,” the orderly warned.

  “I need to know! Tell me...”

  The orderly pressed the rod into Carl’s back. It was a far more impressive shock this time and sent Carl back into darkness.

  Chapter 10

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  Updating Dream Protocol...

  Running update on 156.207

  Interpreting archival data...

  Extract: Memories, Dreams, Reflections by Carl Gustov Jung, 1963

  “...In addition, I discussed her dreams with her. In this way I succeeded in uncovering her past, which the anamnesis had not clarified. I obtained information directly from the unconscious...”

  “...learn from the patient himself where his natural bent would lead him. In order to find that out, careful analysis of dreams and of other manifestations of the unconscious was necessary...”

  “...dreams with collective contents, containing a great deal of symbolic material...”

  “...I was never able to agree with Freud that the dream is a ‘façade’ behind which its meaning lies hidden – a meaning already known but maliciously, so to speak, withheld from consciousness. To me dreams are a part of nature, which harbors no intention to deceive...”

  “... by evaluating dreams as the most important source of information concerning the unconscious processes, he gave back to mankind a tool that had seemed irretrievably lost. He demonstrated empirically the presence of an unconscious psyche which had hitherto existed only as a philosophical postulate...”

  “...Being awake means perceiving reality. The dream therefore represented a situation equivalent to reality, in which it created a kind of wakened state. In this sort of dream, as opposed to ordinary dreams, the unconscious seems bent on conveying a powerful impression of reality to the dreamer, an impression which is emphasized by repetition. The sources of such realities are known to be physical sensations on the one hand, and archetypal figures on the other...”

  “...These dreams show that there is something in us which does not merely submit passively to the influence of the unconscious, but on the contrary rushes eagerly to meet it, identifying itself with the shadow...”

  Recommendation: Since it was found that dreams could explain unconscious behaviors, run an experiment to determine if dreams can be used to influence a subject’s conduct. More specifically, the purpose of this experiment is to alter already established behavioral patterns by streaming various recurring dream sequences to subjects. Currently, there is no data available to determine if externally produced dreams could change undesirable behavior. As such, this will be flagged as a precedent-setting experiment. The Micom DJD 207 has been altered specifically for this purpose, allowing signals to be sent to the cortex in order to deliver the content of the dream. The emotional impact of dreaming is left to the subject; however, emotional data will be gathered by monitoring changes in the limbic system.

  Searching archives for possible dream content...

  Extract: Haunted House

  Subject is chased by Cerberus through the hallway of a haunted house. The three-headed monster silently pushes them towards increasingly scarier objects. The only sound that the subject can hear is its own heartbeat. Screeches and barking are introduced into the dream. Witches pop out of rooms and join the chase. Hands begin to push out of walls, attempting to snag the subject. As the subject is chased, the hallway narrows. After some time, the hands are able to touch the subject. Pictures framed on the walls begin to call out the subject’s name, smiling at the subject, following the subject with their painted eyes. The hallway narrows to the point where the subject can no longer move forward.

  Note: The moment before being captured, a signal is sent to wake up the subject.

  Frequency: Once every second sleep cycle

  Distribution: 1 in 1000, randomized

  Extract: The Child

  Subject enters a mansion. Once inside, the doors lock. The subject wanders around from room to room. The doors do not logically connect to each room; every room is randomly generated as the subject goes through the door. The goal is to instill a sense of dread, as there appears to be no way out of the mansion. When the counter hits between twenty and thirty rooms, the main entrance reappears. Once at the main entrance, the subject walks through the front door but instead of going outside, one large room is displayed. The room is so large that the subject cannot see the furthest wall. The subject must walk through the room until he or she finds a two year old child tied to a chair. The child is examining something in its hand, but the subject cannot determine what it is. Terminate dream.

  Frequency: Once every seventh sleep cycle

  Distribution: 1 in 500, sorted to subjects with morality scores of 90% or higher

  Extract: Lucid Gun Fight

  The subject is in a corner store between two aisles. As the subject is looking at bread, a gunmen enters the store and begins shooting an automatic machine gun. All around the subject, debris from the goods are flying in every direction in dramatic slow motion. The subject sees another consumer. Being a hero, the subject tackles the fellow citizen to the ground, saving the shopper’s life. The subject sits up to find a machine gun next to him or her. The subject picks up the gun and is then freed from the planned narrative, able to choose the direction of the dream.

  Note: Monitor subject’s decisions during run-time.

  Frequency: Once every seventh sleep cycle

  Distribution: 1 in 500, randomized

  Extract: Serenity Now

  Subject is relaxing on a tropical beach. A waiter comes and gives him or her food and drink. The weather is warm and sunny. A soothing song plays in the background; the subliminal message, “serenity now” repeats quietly behind the music. The gentle ebb and flow of the ocean provides a rhythmic counterpoint to the song. The sun begins to set, leading the subject into a state of total relaxation.

  Frequency: Once every third sleep cycle

  Distribution: 1 in 1000, sorted to subjects with morality scores of 30% or lower

  Extract: Charlie the Unicorn

  Subject hovers over a sleeping unicorn named Charlie. Charlie is awakened by two other unicorns that convince Charlie to go to Candy Mountain. On the way to Candy Mountain they are met by a magical Liopleurodon who guides them in their quest. Once at Candy Mountain, some candies sing to Charlie, enticing him into a cave. Once inside, the candies drug Charlie and steal his kidney.

  Frequency: Randomized

  Distribution: Randomized

  Chapter 11

  Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal. (Sartre)

  “Hello!?” Carl yelled into dense fog. Emptiness caught hold of the word, bouncing his voice all around. The Doppler Effect forced the pitch lower and lower. A strange echo shot every semi-tone back at him. The cacophony of o, so loud and heavy, forced Carl to place his hands ineffectively over his ears. Kneeling, the sound rattled his lungs. Pressure overwhelmed Carl so much that he thought his insides might shake loose. Consumed by only one thought – for the noise to stop – it did. Silence. An absolute vacuum.

  Carl stayed down for a moment, afraid that the din would return. When it didn’t, he opened his eyes. Still, his vision was limited by thick fog, which swirled around him like cream in coffee. The street ahead was nothing more than an abandoned sketch.

  Gaining confidence that the rush of sound was gone, Carl took a blind step forward. His foot sank into a crack. Stumbling sideways, he caught
himself before falling to the ground. Careful to remain mute, he stood still to gather himself and examine the land as best he could. But gazing into the muddied air proved useless. Instead, he continued to remain stationary, wishing for the fog to disappear.

  The haze gathered itself in a twister, spinning down the street, out of sight, revealing a street with more cracks and potholes than level surface. Buildings, crumbled to their foundations, lined the road’s edge. The ruins of an ancient civilization. Carl stared down the lonely street, looking for someone, anyone, to emerge from the horizon. Instead, a cackling vulture flew overhead, circling around Carl before flying north. Not sure where else to go, Carl followed the bird, which swooped back at the interloper before continuing its path. Carl ignored the warning and continued to follow it for several blocks.

  Finally, the bird spiraled downward, shouting three distinctive caws. Nothing more than a speck against the bland sky, Carl watched it land. He ran towards the place where the bird perched itself.

  It stood on a pile of rubble, waiting for the interloper to join. Carl slowed to a crawl with an uneasiness that girdled against his ribs, stifling his breath. Each step revealed a little more detail. A body laid on top of the pile. The vulture pecked at its face. Carl edged his way closer to the corpse, his head swirling. He needed to know whose body it was, even though he found anything more than a quick glance caused vomit to push into his throat. Another step closer, the vulture stopped pecking to spy on Carl with an eye hanging out the side of its beak. The bird hissed. Carl launched a rock at its head. He wanted to shout at it but was too afraid to trigger the noise that shook him earlier. The vulture laughed at Carl while the stone whizzed by its head. Hopping backwards a few times, the bird took flight, continuing its northbound path.

  As he inched his way closer, Carl could see that it was a child laying on the pile. One arm hung over the top, while the other pointed down. The child’s leg, broken at the knee, formed an awkward V. With blood smeared across his face, a trail of life’s liquid led down to his neck, where a wide gash across the boy’s throat was covered by flies and maggots. A golden bowl filled with the sanguine fluid was placed next to his head, which spilled out the side and stained the rocks.

  Tears streamed down Carl’s face. Even with the blood smeared down the boy’s face and an eye removed by the vulture, Carl knew who it was. He knew the moment that he saw the body, though he didn’t want to admit it. Carl fell to his knees, sobbing. The boy was his son.

  From out of nowhere, the vulture dove at Carl; its talons clawed at his scalp and pulled his hair. A terrible wail escaped Carl, triggering the Doppler Echo. Carl couldn’t stop crying. Not from the vulture, but from the torment of seeing his son on display after some kind of horrific sacrifice. The sounds continued to get louder, more semitones piled on to the cacophony. It pushed Carl down into a fetal ball on the street. The vulture circled again, still laughing. Swooping down at Carl, it clawed at him a second time.

  Carl woke by ramming his fist into a wall. Trace amounts of blood splattered against the concrete. His arm recoiled from pain, cursing this new recurring dream. It was the same dream for the past three nights. He wicked away the moisture from his face; a combination of sweat and tears left a salty residue on his skin.

  This dream felt different from the old ones. The haunted house dream, while scary, only felt like a movie being shown to him. Even inside the dream, there was a sense of security, like it was being mediated; although, he couldn’t identify that feeling until he started having new dreams in this dungeon. Before his collapse, Carl only had two dreams. Usually he dreamt that he was in a haunted house. Less frequently, he had an annoying dream about a unicorn named Charlie.

  This one, this dream about his dead son, felt urgent. It felt real. Inside the dream, he could even smell rotting flesh in the air. Every detail was so clear, even after waking. He feared that there was truth to the dream. That if he did manage to escape from this place, the first thing he would see was Liam, dead in a pile of rubble. The image haunted him during the day. All Carl could think, while wrapped in the silence of his cell, was getting out of this place to make sure that his son was alive.

  Metal clanged, breaking Carl’s concentration. A tray slid forward with yet another off-white brick of spongy curd and glass of sulfur-water. He was getting used to the taste of both, though he longed for the taste of something else. He held up the glob of flavorless goop in both hands. No matter how hard he tried to imagine it as other food, his imagination failed. Regardless, he gobbled down the slab, impressively no longer choking on stray bits. Then he chugged the water and accepted the putrid smell welling up in his nostrils.

  The familiar sounds of footsteps coming to a halt in front of Carl’s cell triggered a Pavlovian response. He sat upright on his cot, both feet tapping the ground, anxious to meet up with Chris.

  He decided that he liked Chris. Despite the Untruther conspiracies, Chris was amusing. He was different. Perhaps more importantly, he could hold a conversation. Not that Carl was particularly social, but sitting in isolation for twenty hours a day weathered away at his spirit. The loneliness made him dwell on the worst of his thoughts – that he might die in this place without ever knowing if Liam was okay. And with the recurring nightmare, Carl continued to fear that Liam might be dead anyway. Meeting with Chris was a break from worry. Chris also provided hope that escape was possible. They had a plan, even though Carl thought it was a long shot.

  When the door slid open, both orderlies walked into his cell. The man, with a hand resting against his electric baton, said, “You’re going to see the doctor this morning.”

  They marched towards the elevator. As they passed Chris’ cell, he called out, “Ain’t it communal time, boss?”

  The woman answered, “Not yet.”

  Chris shouted out to Carl, “Hey, don’t forget what I said.”

  Carl looked back and nodded.

  “Keep moving,” the man said, gripping his baton tighter.

  The woman said, “Elevator to fourth floor.”

  Carl noted the number, remembering how Chris always tensed up when they passed the fourth floor. He stepped into the lift, keeping his eyes on the ground. Taking Chris’ advice, Carl purposefully unfocused his eyes and acted as if he was somewhere else. “Yes, we can go to the mall. Just give me a few minutes to finish up here.”

  Rubbery grins queued, the orderlies each grabbed one of Carl’s arms to lead him out of the elevator. A single room sprawled itself in front of Carl. He pretended to snap back into the present, flailing his arms to show surprise. Both orderlies stepped back to give Carl some space. The male kept a steady grip on his baton, to be safe. The woman commented, “It’s okay. The doctor will help you.”

  She pointed Carl towards an arm chair in the middle of the room, not daring to move forward herself. This wasn’t a place that anyone wanted to be. Sane or not, the stillness of the room unsettled the soundest mind. Moreover, both orderlies saw the doctor perform her task and didn’t want to fall under her suspicion.

  The room was bleached of any personality. Brightly lit with white all around, it looked sterile enough to perform surgery. As he took a step towards the only chair in the room, Carl wracked his mind, trying to think of why it looked familiar. Like other details of his life before this imprisonment, he couldn’t place it. Everything felt vague, like he had been dreaming his entire life, as if the exact images of his past were being filtered through a sieve. With the exception of Liam, his old life was strange like that – a fast-fading memory that no longer felt a part of him. His new dreams felt more real. Regardless, his fear grew with each step towards the chair.

  Carl sat down to face a white wall with a single red orb, shiny and dark, sticking straight out from a metal post. There was nothing to do but wait and stare at it. His breath shortened, wavering against the dead silence of the room. The more he tried to calm himself, the more panic gripped at his chest. Act like I’m somewhere else, he told himself, Do so
mething before they send me to the pit. But he couldn’t act. He just sat, staring, shaking.

  The orb pulsated an intense red glow. Carl’s back stiffened. He couldn’t move his eyes away from the magnificent gleam, as if mesmerized by a hypnotic swirl. The orb seemed to examine him. Carl felt violated as the red light provided an eerie warmth under his skin. Do something, he said to himself again. Do. Something. He shot out of his seat and looked off into the distance while giving the air a hug. “It’ll be okay,” he said, head bowed down, speaking as if he was soothing Liam. “You just fell, it’s only a little scrape.”

  Snapping out of his pretend daze in the same manner that he saw others do during communal time, Carl spun around the room to survey his surroundings. He took his seat again. Having played out the charade, he felt more comfortable. Until the light shone with more intensity.

  The brighter light reminded Carl of the scanners that he saw in the hospital when he had pneumonia. The doctors told him that the scanner would monitor his heart rate, lung capacity, blood flow, and other vital information to help determine the best course for recovery. The light looked and, as far as Carl remembered, felt the same. But he couldn’t ascertain why this light would be doing the same thing. The sensation of bugs crawling under his skin caused Carl to rub his arms. He contemplated getting up again to continue his play, but he decided that it might be too much.

  Finally, the light dimmed. A woman’s voice boomed overhead, “Carl Winston.”

  Her voice was familiar, but like everything else in this room, he couldn’t place why. “Yes,” his voice caught in his throat, “Who are you?” Thick silence hung on Carl’s shoulders while he waited for answers that he desperately wanted.