Dream Asylum

I don't pretend to understand them.


She was my lover, my mate, or some other concept similar to that. We were the few survivors of a space station that was critically damaged. There was an insane man who was racing to complete an experiment that would enable him to teleport to a world, light years away.

I only remember a single image from the dream. I had to go out in a similar device to race this insane man; to stop him in his quest. The fate of all humanity was at stake. My fellow survivors fitted the eqiupment and loaded the craft in the white, low-ceilinged airlock that opened directly into space. The "cockpit" was just large enough to fit into- I could not turn to the side, I could not sit up, I could not see my hands as I felt for the controls.

My lover approached the command console as I was sliding myself in. When I was finished positioning myself, I could move nothing except my fingers. I leaned my head back onto the form-fitting grip and saw the clean white ceiling. I tried to push away the claustrophibia that came with the knowledge that I would most likely die in this tiny cockpit, unable to move, my screams inaudible in the vacuum.

I saw the face of my mate lean out over mine, upside down. My eyes found hers and we both knew that this was the last time we would ever look at each other again. The black hole of her iris was a window to my own emptiness, which pulsed through my body like a death orgasm. We were both empty, then. I stopped breathing and the entire world faded away, drowned in the aching incompleteness of our selves.

Then she moved her head down and our foreheads touched. It was the only contact we could make, with my position in the cockpit.

It strikes a chord that resonates with all my genetic heritage. It is the response frequency of my existence, a dissonant tone that has no direction, only a building intensity that sounds everywhere, shakes everything. We were about to be separated.

You lie there, feeling it grow. Your field of vision begins to jitter. The noise of the world compresses behind a jagged, blotting roar, heavier than your skull can withstand. Your stomach caves in. Your limbs disappear. The loudest scream your mind can render is silenced in the harmonics. The cognitive dissonance shakes you so violently that, far from merely tearing in half, your being is shredded into the air. You become null grit. It can't even be properly called dying.

Then you snap out of it and you're looking upside-down into someone's eyes. Then you remember who she is. Then you remember where you are. Then it starts again.

You can't tear or claw, you can't even lift your hand to touch her face one last time. You can't scream or you won't be able to stop. Then the panel slides closed, and she lifts her forehead away from yours. You feel the snap.

Flush. Cascading stars. Suppression. A final job to do.