Our Perfect Worlds - Part 1

Alice: Nightmares

TW: 18+ | Descriptions of Violence | Mature Language

PT 381, Dimension S-035, Santa Barraza

I keep having dreams about these things and these people. I can’t even get a good night of sleep. Here I am once again, pulling an all-nighter. I’m finishing up some accounting records on the front porch of an old, inherited house. It’s owned by my friend Jon. Numbers float like ghouls in my mind as the dreams creep up my spine.

These dreams…they feel so real.

It’s the dead of night. My face is illuminated by the shine of my computer screen. The hustle and bustle of the city rings in my ears, interrupting my deep thoughts. The eloquently carved birch wood of the new porch shields me from the smell of the polluted air. Going into the city at night is like going to war. I listen for the occasional pained screams and yells of the night. It might keep me away from these dreams that just keep getting more and more real.

I even look like her…With long red hair and piercing bright purple eyes. She wears this skin-tight suit, as if she’s some sort of doll or model. I cut my hair shoulder-length so I don’t become whatever it is I see in my dreams. I feel scared, like I cannot protect myself or anybody else. I keep having this same dream. Sometimes in first person. Sometimes in third.

The morning comes and the door swings open. My buddy Jon comes out of the house in a suit and tie. He’s a lawyer off to the courthouse to solve some minor disputes. I met him when he acted as my defendant in a case. It was a silly misdemeanor that went down a long time ago. We stayed in touch and grew close. It was a platonic type of close. Just how I like it.

He sat his case on the porch and lit a cigarette, “did you not sleep again, Alice?”

I slurred over my words like a tired, drunken sailor. “You don’t know what I do at night. Maybe I just got out early.”

“You mean you got up early?” Jon corrected with an air of cheekiness.

“Don’t be a smartass. I guess I should get ready for work.” I stood and stretched my arms, looking over the rising sun peeking over the trees. Judging by Jon’s facial reaction, the light illuminated a dark shaded area under my eyes.

“I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel. I’ll drive you if you want me to wait.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got clients.” I shrugged away Jon’s concern and bid him farewell, promising him that I’d walk if I really felt like I couldn’t drive.

Ice-cold water ran over my body like lightning wistfully tightening up my pores. Cold showers save money on our water bill, and they always wake me up in the morning. The discomfort makes up for the clarity I feel. I recall the nightmares. Visages of a parallel version of myself echo in my mind. When I go to sleep, it’s like I’m transported into a different world. It feels too real. I see horrors, a man in red holding a gun, an empty desert. It feels so alien, and I feel so hateful. It’s like I’m viewing the world through someone else’s eyes. I guess there’s nothing conventionally scary about them. When I’m in the midst of these dreams, my throat closes up and I freeze. They feel real, like some sort of out-of-body experience. Every time I close my eyes they take hold and my body is torn apart. It’s the restlessness I feel when I’m shocked awake in a cold sweat. That was when I gave up on sleep.

In the mirror, I see the dark circles below my eyes disappear. For work, I wear a black sleeveless button-up shirt, a red skirt and boots. I would rue the day I went to work in heels. I choose a tie from the bottom of a messily organized bag. It has a cartoony portrait of Betty Boop on it. I chose to wear it out of pure delirium.

I sat down at my desk after an awkward elevator ride with coworkers. In all honesty, I had no idea what I was accounting for. My desk is almost featureless. I’m surrounded by a jail cell of cubicle panels with a single monitor sitting in front of me. Hundreds of tabs are opened on my web browser. I glance and think of deleting them, but I don’t have the energy to go through the hassle. Like an emotionless robot, I kept track of payroll as well as other company transactions. I nodded to my higher ups when I saw them, and engaged in small-talk with employees when we ran into each other. I feel more like a ghost outside of my body than an active worker.

My cup of coffee begins to run dry and I feel myself beginning to slip into the sea of dreams. Disembodied voices begin to spin in my head.

“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Stocks are down…I hate this place.”

My eyes were starting to slip. Nightmares wouldn’t be a problem if I took a little nap. I can’t risk it, yet the sweet release of sleep would be incredibly satisfying. I fell into a deep sleep. The darkness enveloped by my stinging eyes is too inviting.

“Ms. White! Earth to Ms. White!”

I jolted up. My computer screen was composed of a repeating row of e’s. I looked up at Mr. Redman while deleting the mistake I made. My boss was looking straight down at me with an amused look on his face.

“...H-Hi Mr. Redman. Sorry. I was just a little tired.” I spoke in a pleading tone.

Redman was the worst person that could catch me sleeping. He could fire me, and then decide to start redevelopment on my land. Furthermore, he could likely make me disappear altogether. The city of Santa Barraza was another victim of the destabilization of the government. Corporations, former officials, and people with a large following became the new authority in a United States that wanted to keep from crumbling.

“Oh. Is that so? You seem like you haven’t been getting any sleep at all lately. Is there something going on at home?” Redman asked with father-like concern.

I guess he’s onto me. Words poured from my mouth. “I’ve been having these nightmares. Every time I nod off, I have them, they always feel so real. My body can’t rest, and I end up waking up and getting no sleep.”

I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him, but I did. Maybe I felt like I had to be direct with him so I wasn’t fired, or I was so tired that my brain threw all logic out of the window.

“I see.” He responded stoically.

He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. I don’t think he believes me. Why did I even tell him? I should’ve just-

Redman came to a conclusion after some thought. “Why don’t you take the day off then? Go and get some help. I know a good sleep therapist that lives downtown. Why don’t you take some money?”

I was about to say something like “I don’t need your charity”. But before I could say anything, he threw some money in my face and let me leave. Continuously reassuring me that I wasn’t getting fired. I guess I oughta go to this sleep therapist. Maybe it can really get my problems taken care of.

I looked down at the large stack of money that Redman gave me. I could also go get a drink, or go gambling, I might even be able to put a down payment on an apartment.

No. Therapy is what matters! This is for the company!

So I went to the bar.

________________________________________________________________________

Bitter wine ran down my throat, causing my body to flutter. Fuck. This is stupid. Why am I doing this? Maybe I won’t have bad dreams anymore if I drink a little more, and again, I start to nod off. Nobody was at the bar except the bartender. She sat in the corner on her phone. One earbud in just in case I asked for another drink.

I got just a little comfortable, and fell asleep right next to my alcohol. It was all black, just how I like it. I fell into a blackened sleep. So liberating.

“Hey. Your Alice White, right? Hey…Wake up!” The voice snapped.

I mumbled something through dry lips.

“Come on. Wake up!”

I was startled awake by someone’s hand slamming on the table, right next to my head. I rubbed my eyes, as my vision became less and less blurry, I saw her.

It’s her. She’s real. The girl from my dreams. She looks like a cartoonist visage of myself. Long hair the same color as mine, leather jacket with spikes, a sick look on her face.

“So you're me. You look really fickle. It’s almost embarrassing that we’re supposed to be the same person.” She remarked with a scoff.

I was silent. I think I was still trying to decide if I was asleep or not. She continued, “well, we can’t have you around for too long. I might break this whole world or something.”

“What?” I asked, barely able to conjure up a sentence.

“I’m going to rip out your spine now.”

She disappeared from in front of me, and reappeared behind me in a flash. She snapped the wooden leg from the stool I sat upon and I fell to the ground, still in a stupor. The bartender let out a shout, but seemed threatened by the girl’s overall demeanor. I tried to stand up, my eyes facing the wooden boards upon the floor.

I heard a sudden shattering of bones and blood came streaking across the wooden floor. No doubt this was the bartender. Now I was awake, and my life began to flash before my eyes.

I didn’t even have a chance to scream before she drilled her foot into the back of my head and forced her hand into the nape of my neck. Ripping my spine from my body just as she promised. Tendons popped, and all feeling in my body was ripped away. It only hurt for a second. This wasn’t a dream. She made sure I knew that.

I fell asleep in a puddle of my own blood, as my vision faded, I saw the girl’s legs making her move towards the door. I raised my hand, as if I could reach her, without warning, my body collapsed into nothing.