This post took a really really really long time to write. I don’t know why…i guess i just got stuck and i had no idea what kind of an ending I’d give it. First started writing this on January 30th 2011 and finally finished it today…which is May 15th :0 And no this is not ripping off Inception!!It does not deal with people invading other people’s minds, so do no hate 😛 I love “Inception” BTW!!!
Graham Norton had a thing for dreams. Ever since he was a child, he would ponder for hours on end every time he woke up, trying to remember what he’d dreamt the previous night. He had found it fascinating and had made it a hobby and looked at it as a means of creativity. He credited his dreams for being responsible for his highly respectable grades in middle school and even produced his thesis on psychological dementia based on his own recollections of the dreams he had witnessed.
But that was 10 years ago…Back when he had been living the easy life, right up on the pinnacle where he had published his highly successful book inspired by one of his dreams.
It was all gone now. The posh, upbeat lifestyle he had lived had all but slowed to a crawl, he hadn’t written a book ever since, lost touch with all his high profile friends and slowly but surely sunk to the gloomy depths of depression.
It had all started that day. The day he couldn’t forget. At first it had seemed like a normal, morning. The alarm had gone off. Same time it had been going off for two years. He would wake up and feel a fresh new idea enthralled in his head as he recollected the dreams he cherished. They were his talisman. His opening to the world. But today felt different, he had woken up to nothing. His head felt blank. Empty and lonely as if the contents of his head had been vacuumed out. A terrifying thought settled in him. He had not dreamt. He wasn’t usually a very panicky man and some might even say he was generally calm and well mannered, but today was different. There was no time to think of a rational explanation, no time to consider… something was definitely wrong. He leapt out of his bed, wiping the drops perspiration as if waking up from a nightmare…except there hadn’t been one, he hadn’t dreamt at all. The thought kept echoing in his head. His heart raced. What could have happened to him? Everyday since he could remember he had awoken with a sense of enlightenment, his mind filled with a flow of new and intriguing ideas brought out by the brilliance and vibrancies of the dreams he’d visited. He ignored all the things he knocked over as he made his way feverishly towards the bathroom mirror. He peered at his face, hesitantly, almost half expecting to see something horrible and deformed. What was he thinking; he was just sick that’s all…nothing physical, he was just not feeling too well. Yes, that was it. He just had to visit the doctor and get some pills…that would fix it…that would bring them back…the dreams. “My dreams…” he whispered under his breath.
Graham Norton went to the doctor that day and after a thorough check up was told that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. The doctor had posed the question as to why Mr. Norton had gotten the idea that he was ill but was merely given the bleak answer, “Maybe it was just the morning weather…”.The truth was Graham Norton had never told anyone about his dreams. The colourful apparitions he saw at night, the seemingly gifted voices of velvet that seemed to pour a flow of inspiration right into his memory. He did not wish to share it because it was his and his only. He had been gifted and he was in no position to share his gift with anyone. As he left the doctor’s office that day, Mr. Norton decided that maybe this was one of those rare occasions where his dreams had decided to abandon him and they would return to him tonight. When Mr. Norton woke up the next morning, two things happened, first he realised that he hadn’t dreamt again and as if that weren’t shocking enough he immediately received a call from his publisher, inquiring as to his next big project. For the first time in his life Graham Norton had found himself to be speechless.
Graham Norton woke up. The same morning he had woken up to for the last 10 years of his life. The morning where he had woken up to nothing. He had tried everything from simple medication to painful psychological therapy, but to no avail. His nights were dark and placid. He felt trapped and vulnerable when he slept now, the cold seem to overtake him and he felt himself plunging deeper into a dark cavern which he could not escape from. His empty mind was consuming him. He looked towards his answering machine; he hadn’t received a call in years. He had severed all connections to the outside world. They could not see him like this, so distraught and worthless. His once thick blond hair was thinning, mainly from all the medication he took. He needed it. They made him feel good. But not as good as his dreams, his dreams had always left him satisfied with a feeling unlike any. He started crying. He couldn’t take the silence anymore, the soreness his body felt was getting worse. He shuffled towards his answering machine and clicked the flashing button. The beep made him jump; it had been a while since he had heard anything other than himself. The message was dated April 15th 2008, a day ago, a soft voice came to life, “Hello, Mr Norton? It’s Ms, Evans here, remember me? I helped you contact your first publisher? Well…I heard you’ve been on a long hiatus and I was wondering if you needed any help. No one’s seen you for a while and I was wondering if I could talk to you tomorrow…if it’s possible that is. Give me a call. Bye and hope you are doing well. Beep. Graham Norton hit the delete button, and continued to do so for the next 100 messages or so. And then he lay back on his bed and the dreamless sleep consumed him once again.
Graham Norton woke up. He felt different. He felt fresh and alive. Something good was happening and he knew it. He was dreaming. It wasn’t the dream he had been looking for, but even then he was still dreaming. He was sure of it. He looked across his room and saw the door. It was beckoning to be opened. He got up and walked straight out, the corridor was dark and the dark reminded him of the dark and lonely voids he had visited every time he slept. But that was over; he was looking for inspiration now, now that “it” had finally come back to him. He made his way downstairs and came to face the empty street. The street was familiar…Of course it was! It was the same street he lived on, the dream was replicating his own life. And then it hit him. He knew what he would do. He knew what to write about now. Something that had left his mind a long time ago finally returned. An idea. He made up his mind, he was going to write the story of a madman who was tormented and brought down by his dependencies. He would write about…himself. And then he saw the light, a bright and glowing ball moving towards him. He hadn’t noticed but lost in his new found idea he had casually walked over some very hard and long metal rods placed on the ground. It was much too hard to see what they were and he looked away and looked towards the growing ball of light. And then he heard the sound. The sound, it was the sound he had heard in a nightmare before, he had loved the nightmares…It always inspired him to write something terrifying and suspenseful. Maybe he was in one now and he would at this element of terror in his new writing. The ball of light was moving closer. He waited. Waited for its embrace. And then he saw it….the train. How foolish had he been to think that it had been a spectre or some other supernatural idiocracy. I guess it was time to get up and the dream was coming to a close, but it didn’t matter he had got what he wanted. Finally. He looked towards the train approaching closer and closer. He knew he was going to feel the jolt of fear and adrenaline moments before he woke up…that was how it always ended.Always.It had been a long time but he could still remember. He knew how he would end his story now….The last lines appeared in his sharp and crystal clear, “It was coming now…the train of his dreams. It was coming….this was the end”. And with that, little did Graham Norton know that he had finished had already finished his story and it really was the end.