Machinery, Take Thy Dream

When I came to, it felt different from all the other times that I had been knocked unconscious. It didn’t feel like waking at all; it felt like I was rising from the dead. I then began to communicate with my senses, which seemed dead as well but soon I began to feel. I realized that my shirt was missing and from the nape of my neck to my waist was bare; lying on a cold (almost frozen) surface. I opened my eyes to see rustic rafters accommodated by cobwebs hanging over my head. Only then did I realize that I was lying on a table, but it wasn’t any table, it was my operating table.

Shifting my head to the right, I see Chloe, standing by my machine. Her eyes flickered up towards mine. For a moment I searched her eyes, wondering why she was doing this to me. Unexpectedly I felt a current of pain rip through my body. Chloe looked at me sympathetically, “It hurts doesn’t it? I was hoping that I could have done all this while you were sleeping, but alas, my diploma from Harvard has failed in teaching me how to operate this crude machine.”

I caught my breath, my chest heaving rapidly. I could already tell that she had the electrical currency knob switched way too high. If she wasn’t careful she was going to fry me on my own fucking table. I now knew why Chloe was so anxious, so willing to volunteer. She only wanted to do some reverse role playing in my basement. I managed to find my voice and I sighed heavily, “This isn’t turning out the way I had planned at all.”

“Life doesn’t turn out the way you planned silly! That’s why it’s life. Now, shall we begin?” She turned a few knobs and sat down in my chair.

Suddenly, I felt my muscles tighten and I feel my mind start racing involuntarily. I started fighting against it. I don’t want Chloe poking around in my brain. There are so many things that I didn’t want to remember, forget about letting Chloe see my deranged past. The struggle felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside out and I vowed on my life that I wasn’t going to let this be easy.

I heard Chloe say something but it was all muddy and slow; incomprehensible. For a split second I would have sworn on my life (which was being compromised) that I could smell my own brains roasting. Then, suddenly, the machine was turned off, and I gasped for air. This was the worst torture I’ve ever endured.

I panted breathlessly as Chloe appeared at my side, running her hand through my sweat drenched hair. Her hand was cool and refreshing, her touch was chilling yet I found myself craving her comfort. I don’t know why I yearned for her touch; she was doing this to me.

“Connor,” Her voice was soft and sweet, it didn’t match her injurious behavior, “Just stop fighting it. If you fight that hard to keep the images from showing up on the screen then you’re only going to destroy yourself. If you’d just relax then we can put this into retrospective quicker.”

I shudder, trying to speak but only producing spastic coughs. I tried to get myself to relax, I tried to embrace myself for when Chloe would turn the machine back on but as I feared, nothing could prepare me for that pain. I knew that I couldn’t fight the machine much longer, not if I wanted to live through the ordeal, so I did the logical thing. I let go.

I felt violated as the machine began to sift through my though my memories. I tried to stay conscious when suddenly my mind went dark and I found myself in the midst of my past.

“I’m tired of this shit, Connor! You promised me that you would reapply for your job with the telemarketing company!” My girlfriend Leah’s voice was so shrill; nagging almost, “You need to stop obsessing over all this crap in this basement that doesn’t work!”

I sat at my work bench, totally ignoring Leah as she ranted. My grandfather had died two weeks ago, and he left me something strange in his will. Grandfather had been a multimillionaire, yet he hadn’t left me a dime in currency; he’d left me something better. A machine and an ancient manuscript which I had been reading for days. The manuscript that told me I could make millions if I quit my small fry job at the telemarketing company.

“All I do is clean your dirty clothes, and cook you dinner! I mean, I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted! When you want a beer, I get it. When you want sex, I give it. All I ever asked of you was that you keep a steady job to keep a roof over our heads and what do you do? You quit! Over some stupid machine that tightwad grandfather owned!”

Rolling my eyes, I tried to control my temper. I’d never hit Leah, but for the first time in my life I was tempted. This machine wasn’t just a pile of junk; it was a gateway. The gateway into another persons brain. I put the manuscript down, and nonchalantly (more like absent mindedly) flicked the on/off switch to on.

“This was the last thing I exspected you to do for me. What do you have to say for yourself Connor? What the fuck, Connor. Listen to me when I’m talking to you!” I could hear her angry footsteps approaching me from behind and I abruptly stood up, grabbing the collar of her white shirt and swinging her onto my work table. She started to protest but I shoved all the wires of the dream catcher inside her mouth.

She convulsed violently on my work table and I watched bemused as blood poured from her eyeballs, nose, ears, and mouth. I looked at the monitor only to see one flash of an image of Leah with another man in my bed. I watched the light fade from her eyes (and from the screen) as I hissed angrily, “The last thing you can do for me would be to shut up.”

I then take control of my thoughts again, struggling to remain conscious. Chloe’s eyebrows were raised inquisitively. I didn’t know what was more painful: remembering times like those or fighting the machine.

The basement door opens and Isabelle’s voice calls out my name. I hear her footsteps walk hesitatingly down the stairs. The last thing I remember was hearing her scream.