Irene

A taste of the short story I'm working on:

She looked around this place, this open expansiveness of land that stretched beyond the horizon and below the earth and above the heaven. Things exploded with color around her—the ground, the buildings, even the sun. Everything pulsed with a life, a beat, a rhythm. She inherently understood that she was on a date, one of those realizations that only come in dreams. Carmen was there and she drifted about lazily, appearing in front of Irene’s face and speaking to her, but she could only see the shape of her lips moving to form what Irene assumed to be words; no sounds came out. The muffledness that seems to sometimes accompany dreams engulfed her, as if she were floating in a bubbleless underwater world where no sound could reach her. Irene saw a man come near her and instantly knew it was him. The muffled feeling left her, and suddenly all noise was crisp and clear. He said hello to her and put his hand out for her to touch. Her fingertips met his and the pads of their fingers pulsed in a rhythmic beat, and she could see the colors pulsing and radiating from their connection. First purple, then aqua, then indigo, then yellow. Like a rippled rainbow created by the joining of their souls. Carmen danced on the ripples, hopping from one to the other as they stretched out across the expanse of this dreamland. He embraced Irene’s hand then and they began to walk. Except their walk no longer involved their feet touching the ground; instead, they floated above the surface of the street, and it took four steps to cover the same distance as a real-life one.

Irene was consciously aware of the dream. As if she were watching a film, she saw the couple progress down the road to her home, to what really felt like their home. With each step, yellow pulses rippled from their feet, emanating from the tips of their toes and rippling out like water across the pavement. The longer they held hands, she felt an inconceivable joy, as if simply being there with him at that moment was all she ever need to sustain her. Forever.

She knew it was not real, yet the pure happiness she felt could in no way be fake. Her happiness grew with each passing moment, until at last she felt as though she would explode in a blissful euphoria. She could see Carmen in the distance now, still hopping on the ripples that grew further and further apart. She finally settled on a purple one, faced the couple and waved goodbye. Then she disappeared in only the way people disappear in dreams.

They stopped walking just then, and he turned to look at her. She could see herself through his eyes. She noticed the pulsing blue of her iris, bluer than any summer sky or any crystal lake, and wondered why they were not this blue in reality. As he leaned toward her she entered her own body again, just in time to taste his lips, his tongue, his essence.

Irene, you have to wake up, she consciously though. This is not real. This is not real. You have to stop!

But dream Irene was too engrossed, too enveloped in the taste of his kiss to realize the danger of her happiness. She returned his pressing lips with passionate ones of her own, and moved her hips closer to his. She wanted more. Had to have more. She wanted the pulsing to keep rippling out from their embrace, to fill this entire mystical place with a yellow ripple and to make their world explode with happiness and pure joy.

Irene, NO! This is not real. This is not real. This is not real!

WAKE UP!

Irene lay motionless, her eyes closed. She saw only a faint yellow ripple, and then darkness. She tried to momentarily grasp at the dream, but it was like grabbing at smoke in the air. It escaped her and lifted like the morning fog, and no matter how hard she tried she could not hold on to it any longer. She replayed the image in her head. His hand, his face, his taste. The sea of colors pulsing and rippling across the expanse of the horizon. The want for it all to be real in all its absurdity. The man she was falling so desperately in love with, and whom she truly believed was falling in love with her too. The bliss still anchored in her heart, heavy like an iron burden. She lay still, attempting to will her dream into reality.

Please be real. Please let it all be real. Let this be my life.

One minute later, a minute that for all Irene knew could have lasted an eternity, she came to the bitter acceptance that it was not real. It was simply a dream, and she opened her eyes and stared at the blank, white wall of her room.