Paracosm

Plain and dull people drearily board the plane, sleepily shuffling one after another in unison. One man, standing out amongst his dull peers, is a genius physics professor named Andy. He is a spiffy-looking young man with a posture crumpled by anxiety, yet he dons an optimistic smile all the same. Checking each row number extensively, he spots his seat at the back of the plane, beside a bearded gentleman in a suit and tie who is jostling uncomfortably in his sleep. As Andy approaches, the gentleman slowly begins to awake in a cold sweat.

“Hey, stranger, is this seat taken?” Andy chuckles meekly, doing his utmost best to smile.

The gentleman, who had regained his composure, blinks and turns to him.

“I’m sorry?” His voice is deep and his expression unsightly.

“Sorry - aeroplane humour.” chuckles Andy softly, looking past the gentleman’s flaws.

Andy gestures to the seat.

“Ah, I see,” says the gentleman with a small nod.

Andy gets into his seat slowly, his arms shaking. The gentleman, observing Andy closely.

“Are you okay?” he asks bluntly.

“Sorry, I’ve got a bit of a phobia of flying. It’s foolish, really. Not grounded in much reality. Yes, very foolish,” says Andy, looking embarrassed.

The Gentleman looks at him from top to bottom from the corner of his eyes.

“I’ve had not-so-great experiences in such situations, too. Truth be told, though I am naturally of a stoic persona, I find myself feeling uncomfortable and uneasy within the seat of a plane,” says the gentleman, looking down towards a book in his lap.

Andy finds some solace in the gentleman’s willingness to open up to him and relaxes his tensed shoulders.

Andy places his hand over towards the gentleman.

“Andy,” he says, gesturing to shake. He looks down and notices the large book in the gentleman’s hands.

“Oh, sorry,” Andy quickly adds, slowly moving his hand away.

“No, please don’t be,” says the gentleman, putting the book down and shaking Andy’s hand firmly.

“Good handshake. I am Ivor. Doctor Winston Ivor.” The Doctor chuckles as he finishes the short but stern handshake.

“Wow - a Doctor. What kind? I am a Doctor myself, you know?”

“Metaphysics,” says the Doctor with a twinge of embarrassment. He was ready to be labelled a fool.

“The concept of spirits, other worlds - things that both do and do not exist in different planes of reality.”

“Fascinating! I, myself, study physics, too.”

“Ah, I suppose you’d find the study of conceptual physics rather fruitless then?”

“Quite the opposite! I think it’s amazing to think of concepts unable to be quantified. Why, I’m taking a trip now to head to a conference on our perceptions of reality. Though mine is based more upon how our brains function, it’s fascinating to think about foes at play far greater than we can physically conceive. Is that book related to your studies?”

Andy gestures towards the book. His enigmatic excitement is infectious. The Doctor smiles.

“Yes, yes it is. I was just on a particularly interesting chapter of a topic I have been studying as-of-late. Do you have dreams?”

“Yes, I do - a desire to start a family, get my inventions off the ground, to meet someone-”

“Ah, no, my apologies. In this case, I mean this quite literally. When you sleep, do you dream?”

“Yes. I do. Though, to be honest with you, they’re not particularly pleasant. Often nightmarish.”

“Well, this book posits a theory that dreams are a theory that dreams are ostensibly a window into another reality.”

“A window? So say I dream where I and a partner are fighting a horde of zombies?”

“Reality.”

“A dream where clouds are cotton candy?”

“Reality. Essentially. In a sea of endless universes, once you’ve pictured this world existing, it inevitably does so.”

“So a monkey-on-typewriters cross Schrodinger’s cat? They don’t exist, but do once observed through a mind’s eye?”

“Indeed!”

Andy pauses for a minute, enamoured with the Doctor. But a fear begins to creep over him as he continues to speak.

“And… what of nightmares?”

The Doctor’s face turns.

“Well, to say that all lives are as wonderful as cotton candy clouds would be too sweet. Bad things are inevitable,” he says dramatically.

There is a lull in the conversation.

“You see…” Andy continues,

“I once had a dream where I met a stranger on a park bench. We hit it off, so to speak, and became incredibly close partners. He was incredibly smart. His advanced studies brought us all over the world my studies also separated us. However, one day, I was set to visit him during his stay in a foreign country. Excitedly I took based my belongings. Later, I took my seat. Finally, the plane took off… but it never landed. An accident of some kind. I recall nothing more, but the fear is stuck within me deeply.”

Andy turns to the Doctor.

“Such is my fear of planes,” he shrugs with feigned apathy.

Andy looks lost, his hands shaking. The Doctor selfishly places his hand on top of Andy’s.

“But that is not to say all tales are tragic. I, myself, have had many dreams of being engaged with a terrific person. I observe as we have the time of our lives bonding in all sorts of outlandish worlds. They may also end up in tragedy, but they are also beautiful while they last. That’s… what we have to focus on.”

Andy leans back in his chair.

“And what of reoccurring elements?”

“Well, though our imaginations are wild, they are not limitless. As I say, it is a glimpse into another similar world, not a jump into something entirely new. Your brain is influenced by your day-to-day.”

The Doctor chuckles. The atmosphere is very pleasant.

“Besides, at the end of the day, it’s all mere conjecture. Nothing to worry about.”

Andy tries to smile, but it fades quickly.

“What of… reoccurring nightmares?”

“Well, again, consistent influences in your life might lead to repeated ideas or,-”

“- No,” says Andy firmly.

“What of the same? Things carrying over between dreams.”

And holds the Doctor’s hand firmly.

“What of creatures carrying over?”

“What do you mean?”

The atmosphere has shifted.

“Ever since I had the dream of the crash… within every dream, there is always… a stranger. Just like the initial dream, I always find myself in accompaniment by someone amazing. A new relationship. Yet at the end of every dream this stranger, this gentleman- this creature tall, disproportionate and slack-jawed approaches. He has a hollow face. A face which caves in upon itself like a whirlpool, its elements distorted. Twisted. This stranger’s skin is bleached white. With elongated hands and distorted nails, he reaches toward me. Every night. I recoil in fear, yet he pursues. And just as he is about to grasp me, I awake.”

“It cannot be the same creature,” laughs the Doctor in disbelief.

“But it is…” Andy trails off as he looks into the distance.

“I don’t know how I know it, but it is. Within each subsequent dream, his face becomes more warped and less lucid, but his expression…. his longing for something - his distorted weariness. - those are always deepening.”

Andy looks over to the Doctor, who is gripping his handkerchief tightly. Sweat pours down the gentleman’s feeble neck.

“Truth be told, I, too, have dreams of a beast. In all my dreams, I am but a mere observer. The me I see is not myself. I am but a stranger. A narrator to the other’s stories.”

He carelessly pats his brow with his wetted handkerchief.

“And I find myself filled with an unquantifiable grief. An unfathomable jealousy towards my other self. As though he took something that was mine. A transcendent rage overtakes me. It brings with it a memory that is not my own; I envision me and this gentleman together. Happy. Tragedy befalls us. One day perishes in a vehicle crash. Drowning in grief, I poured our research into a way to get him back. A way that tears apart my skin, breaks my heart and leaves me broken.”

With a voice quaking, he continues, quietly, making it difficult to make out the words.

“A way of suffering and pain. A way to invade another person’s life. A way to tear them apart with my bare hands - shattering their relationship. Inserting myself. Even when I am awake I can still envision it; broken bone upon my fingers.”

His voice quivers, and his arms shake. The other passengers are unconscious.

The two lean in closer, trying to hide their voices.

It does not work.

“I found a way to open the window.”

A low groan overtakes the cabin. The lights dim.

“What scares me most, however, is that before you woke me from my slumber, I was in the midst of the same dream. I was watching from the corner. I observed, with heated rage, my partner and another engaging in conversation. Riveted by each other, they discussed fears, purpose, and dreams. They held each other’s hands. They were locked in each other’s eyes. And, finally, they discussed the stranger, watching them from the corner of the plane.”

Slowly, the two men, whose eyes have met with understanding, turn their heads. Stricken with deep fear they look, with horror, upon me.

I am witnessed.

I relax my shoulders, and my hands reach to the ground. I drag them along the cabinet.

They recoil in fear as I lose all inhibition and approach, one laboured step at a time. Radioactive apathy corrodes the unconscious passengers as I pass them by. I cannot help but groan - my throat hurts. Parched from an endless decadence of decay. I require oil. I am rusted. Old. Worn. Ruined. You must look upon my form with love, my sweet.

Finally, I stop, stating upon these men.

Why do you look at me like that? It’s me. Do you not recognise me?

I reach towards him, to hold him, to caress him. The other places his hands in front of him. This foolish doctor. You do not know him like I do. You are a mere stranger. Another outsider trying to ruin my relationship. I grab the doctor, lifting him high into the air. The cabin lights flicker. Andy punches and pushes against me, but my stature does not change. I look up at this man, turning blue and purple. I look down upon Andy. His tears stream across his red face. It’s too late for us now. You clearly do not see me for who I truly am. I am good. You are wrong. But you will see. One day, in another time. You will see. I tighten my grip. I feel the bone break.

In a cold sweat, I awake. I am on a bus. Yes, that’s right. I’m travelling to a conference. I pull out my handkerchief and dab my brow. I must find my balance. To be lost in fantasy is not proper. I compose myself.

A man approaches me.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” he asks shyly.

I look up towards this kindly man. But I stop in my tracks as I see, behind his shoulder a lanky beast with melted features, outstretched arms and a broken neck. A stranger.