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The night lasted an eternity, but Brian was not aware that he was even sleeping. He was stuck in a repeating loop of what might or might not have been reality. Time and time again, he experienced the same thing in the subconscious depths of his tortured mind.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.
I'm still reading. Keep it going. I like it.
Now, this is probably the least inspired episode to date, but it was necessary, as it allows the momentum to built for the next few chapters.
Just in case anyone is reading these still.
Just in case anyone is reading these still.
The night lasted an eternity, but Brian was not aware that he was even sleeping. He was stuck in a repeating loop of what might or might not have been reality. Time and time again, he experienced the same thing in the subconscious depths of his tortured mind.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.