More Problems

The warm summer breeze caresses Adam’s head. He stands beside his bedroom window, bathing in his serenity. The streets before him remain empty, and tranquil. The clock sits at 2AM, and moonlight beams cheerfully.

Something, however, isn’t right.

It’s deathly silent. Eerily silent.

All of a sudden, a darkness begins to form, above Adam’s serenity. His relaxation vanishes. His tranquillity erodes and sense of control becomes pulverised.

He looks beyond the street. In the far distance, Adam notices a vast crowd of people, organised perfectly in line, walking along his street in complete unison. They look forward, with no concern of their environment or surroundings. There are hundreds of them. All walking in the exact same manner.

Adam gasps. His head darts about the street. Bewildered and confused. It’s 2AM. What would these people be doing at this time?

Beads of perspiration drip from Adam’s forehead. His breathing grows heavier. His tranquillity, has long since departed, and is replaced, with sheer panic and fear.

Abruptly, the crowd halts. They shift their direction, and face Adam. Their movements are performed with an eerie precision, sending Adam aback. The dull dark patches beneath their exhausted eyes, send chills down Adam’s spine. Fear wriggles and slops within his stomach.

The crowd breaks through his door, climbs up his staircase - their stomping footsteps flood Adam’s mind - and head into his room. They are no longer in unison. They no longer move, with an eerie precision, and accuracy. Instead they clamber, and stumble over each other like violent animals, as they desperately continue their relentless endeavour. Adam withdraws within himself. Crawling into a ball. Concealing his face.

He yells.

He screams.

But the stomping footsteps dominate him. A moment later, his door breaks down. Crowds of people pour through, yelling, screaming, in somewhat of an eager manner.

Adam continues to scream at the top of his lungs.

This is it! He thinks to himself.

Just before his body is engulfed by the crowd, his vision goes white.

Adam awakens. He blinks once. Then twice. As his eyes begin to adjust to his surroundings, he lifts himself up, and examines his room, in a bemused manner.

It’s 7AM. The sun shoots through a tiny gap between his curtains. He inspects his hands - no marks, no injuries. He inspects his face in the mirror - no marks, no injuries.

Shaking his head, in a bewildered manner, Adam cautiously, and reluctantly, approaches his window. A familiar, frightful emotion slops within his stomach. His heart beats rapidly, and forehead begins to burn.

He looks down the street. Nothing. It’s merely the beginning of a new day. He breaths a sigh of relief, as the reality of his internal altercation hits him - it was just another nightmare.

Adam walks through his grand, opulent home, and heads directly to his office. He passes formidable paintings, spacious rooms, with no occupiers, and walks through lengthy corridors.

He enters his office, sits down, breathes another sigh of relief, as his fears and anxieties of the nightmare pour out of him. The typewriter is pulled towards him, and he drifts into an alternate world. The world of his novel. Finally, he feels relaxed.

Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. The clock ticks by. Adam remains immersed with the emotions of his characters, immersed in the world, in which they live.

A world away from cameras. A world away from the press. A world without headlines, obsessive fans, and people with nothing better to do, than to survey his every footstep, and dwell on it on talk shows and podcasts for hours.

The clock strikes 3 PM. 8 hours was not bad. He wouldn’t be able to continue any longer, lest he risked writing lazily. Adam reluctantly pushes his typewriter - his one prized possession - away, and leaves his office. An angry summer sun, caresses his exhausted face.

As Adam walks to his kitchen, a daunting thought floods his body - there is no food. He would limit the number of trips he went to buy groceries, so as to avoid people as much as possible. Adam had already used up all of the food he’d purchased - nothing more remained.

Anger rises through his chest. His eye throbs, and breathing grows heavier.

“Damnit!” he mutters beneath his breath.

Like a madman, Adam frantically opens cupboards, and shelves, slams drawers shut, in an attempt to search for scraps. It’s futile. He’s used up everything. There’s only one, dreadful solution. He’s got to face the crowd.

So, he gets dressed, wearing a $2 thousand suit and heads out, muttering angrily beneath his breath. The sun, suddenly begins to beat against him furiously.

His front yard, is abundant in sports cars, and palm trees. A water fountain whispers, slightly calming Adam’s anger. He steps into a Mercedes Benz, approaches his gates, and embarks on his dreadful trip.

The moment the gates stretch open, like an eagle displaying its wings, Adam is confronted with a haze of yelling. Reporters squawk questions. Paparazzi’s stick their stupid cameras out, and click at them aggressively.

“Mr Fuld what is your response to the allegations?”

“Mr Fuld, Mr Fuld, is it true that you attacked your editor?”

“Hey Adam, shows us your face would ya!”

The questions overwhelm him, and dominate his surroundings. Everything seems to turn red.

“Why don’t you all just shut up, for once in your damn lives” Adam yells, whilst slamming the horn.

They scatter moderately, giving him the slightest space to past. He travels through it, and rushes away.

His breathing quickens, and mind spins frantically. Each aspect of his life. Every footstep he makes. Every word he utters, is thrown, at and whips him.

Anger chokes his lungs. He drives to the nearest market, counting to ten. His nostrils flare open. The anger does not dissipate. He counts to one hundred.

Upon arriving, Adam rushes into the store, struggling to maintain balance as he sprints eagerly, like rat escaping a snake. He grabs as much food that can fit his cart. Edges through aisles. Avoids screeching fans. Hides his face with his arm. He leaves as fast as he arrives and heads home.

The palm trees. The sunlight. The weather. The skyscrapers and beautiful homes, deceive everyone. Adam thinks to himself, with a giant, blue frown across his face.

Eventually, he reaches his street, and holds his hand against the horn. The crowds scatter like mice. The gates open and he heads in.

Adam walks back into his home. Relief flows through his body. Safe - for now.

When the day is over, and the clock sits at 2AM, Adam leaves his bed, coated in perspiration, and approaches his window. The warm summer breeze brushes against his face, and massages his mind. The paparazzi, and reporters are gone, for now.