Fabrications

Thunder roared through sky, tearing through the clouds. The wind howled, deafeningly, proclaiming its fury. Alan sat alone at his desk. Typing away at his typewriter. Struggling for ideas. Pacing back and forth through his office, whilst mumbling to himself like a madman. Alan consistently failed to meet deadlines - if his work wasn’t perfect, it would not exist, if it wasn’t confronted with showers of praise, and compliments, it would not exist, and if it didn’t flow like a poem, it did not exist. He was a rigorous perfectionist, with thick hopes and tangible desires.

Alan needed inspiration. He longed for just a grain of something original. Something which would intrigue, and hook the interests of others. Something which would change the way his readers thought.

He continued to think out loud. Shut his eyes. The roaring clouds, continued their relentless march, disrupting his train of though. 

Alan’s fingers trembled. Desperate beads of perspiration formed on his forehead, in spite of the freezing weather. Darting thoughts, ideas and themes remained tangled in knots of confusion, and bemusement.

Suddenly, Alan’s eyes opened, like ancient gates. Was this it? Had it finally happened? Euphoria pulsed through Alan’s veins, and spread through his body like a wildfire. A wide smirk began to plaster itself, against his boiling hot face. He lifted himself from his chair. Raised his hands in the air.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got the -”

BANG.

Lightening screeched directly through his soul. Alan’s exhilaration became pulverised in an instance. His sense of euphoria, evaporated like hot steam, and vision became completely black. As he clasped his ears shut, an obnoxious ringing noise, embedded itself into his mind. Fear mercilessly gnawed at his paralysed insides.

It was after, Alan’s body remained stationary for 5 minutes, did he finally have the courage to open his eyes. It took a moment for his vision to adjust. The ringing in his ears gradually began to fade, and the fear which flooded his stomach, faded, like a flakes of ash against a breeze.

Bemused, Alan examined his office. His desk lay on the floor, broken completely into pieces. Books lay scattered, in an arbitrary pattern. He sat against the wall, in his obliterated office, and rubbed his eyes. His breathing grew slower, and increasingly tranquil, until he glance at his window.

“What?” Alan exclaimed, overwhelmed with sheer bewilderment.

Despite being struck by lightening, the window had somehow remained intact. The only difference, was that now it’s colour shifted, to that of a calming, light blue.

Alan cautiously started towards it. Despite his initial reluctance, he managed to reach his hand out towards the window.

To his shock, his hand travelled directly threw it. Gasping in disbelief, he edged away from it.

“How on earth, did this happen?” he exclaimed.

He searched for an object to throw at it - to see if it would remain intact. Upon retrieving his pen, he threw it towards the window. 

It disappeared.

He waited for a moment.

Then another.

Before dismissing his foolish speculations, and leaving his room, two objects were thrown directly from the window, into his office. It was his pen, except there was now two.

Curiosity dominated Alan’s conventional way of thinking, as he grabbed a book, and threw it towards the window.

Again - two identical versions of the same book appeared. 

“EXTRORDINARY!” Alan yelled to himself.

As eager as a desperate child, he reached into his wallet and retrieved a dollar note. He inserted it through the window. 

He waited.

And he waited.

A joyous grin formed on his face. A twinkle in his eyes, filled with dreams and ideas, began to form, as two one dollar notes, flew back from the window.

He grabbed the two notes, and inserted them into the window. Four notes, had flown back out. He then inserted those four notes, received eight.

All of his former thoughts of insecurity, all of his doubts, fears, and stress, were mutilated. He pinched himself, to see if he was dreaming. Sure enough he wasn’t. THIS WAS ALL -

An alarm clock sounds. The sun shines through the window. His clothing is soaked in perspiration, and a sense of serenity, dances through his mind. The storm has subsided and has been replaced with tranquillity.

Alan awakens, and opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to adjust to the bright lighting. After lifting himself up, Alan pauses abruptly, as he recollects the events of last night. He grins widely, and heads downstairs to his office.

Humming his favourite tune, he walks through corridors which seem brighter, past rooms, which seem more spacious.

He opens the door to his office. His heart rate increases. Alan braces himself, for another day of duplicating his cash. 

“Wait a second…”

The window - it’s transparent. Alan darts towards it, as tears begin to form, and blur his vision. He sticks his hand out towards the window. It fails to travel through. 

“No… no, no no”

He continues to stick his hand toward the window. It remains stiff, and intact. 

Yelling, at the top of his lungs Alan grabs a pen, and throws it towards the window. It deflects back towards him. 

A meek wail, is released. 

Alan retrieves a book, launches it towards the window. It shatters into a million pieces, and the book falls, into his garden. 

All of a sudden, tears, pour from his eyes, rivers of melancholy erupt from his soul, as the reality settles on Alan - it was entirely a dream. A fabrication, of his potent subconscious. He crawls into a ball, cusses at himself, for being so foolish, so naïve and childish and couches in the corner of his office.

For a brief moment, he had it all, and it vanished, as fast it arrived.

An hour later, of witnessing his dreams become obliterated, Alan lifts himself up, and walks towards his repaired desk. He pulls his ancient typewriter towards him. His dream is gone. And his idea is forgotten. He would have to come up with something knew.

Alan starts to think.