Tyler spent most of the night struggling to remember Morrigan. Every now and again, the memory would fade, and anxiety would set in. He knew he forgot something, but spent several minutes with it on the tip of his tongue before finally remembering.
He shouldn't struggle so hard to remember. He shouldn't even forget about her in the first place. Caught between stages of loss and recall, he started to believe her unusual story. As impossible as it seemed, maybe there really was some strange effect surrounding her.
He didn't bother to sleep in fear he'd forget. He occupied his time, anything to stay awake. He cut his curly hair and cleaned the house, periodically stopping when he caught the memories fading.
He tried to find information on Candlelight, the internet proving useless in the endeavor. After ruling out dementia, lack of sleep, and other causes of memory loss, he tossed his phone onto the bed, defeated. He then had an idea. If he logged every detail he remembered in a journal, he could return and see if he forgot anything after an hour or two.
He opened the drawn on a desk in the far corner of his room. He reached for a notebook, sat in his chair, then grabbed a pen. It was then he felt a deep impression on the cover of the notebook. He looked, and noticed something written on the cover, etched into the card-stock due to the pressure behind the pen: Remember Her.
Written larger than they should be, each letter stood out, filled in with frantic scribbling. He shuddered when he attempted to open the notebook, unsure of whether he should. He felt something, like a dark secret, hidden in his own Pandora's box. His head throbbed every time he looked at it, but he opened it anyway.
He found dates depicting events that he never remembered happening. Then again, each event felt like a half-forgotten dream. He read of romantic outings, such as watching the sunset on the roof of his apartment building in a pile of blankets and pillows, conversations on likes and dislikes, and events that were far stranger than the one he found himself in.
He read through the notes he left behind,. He then reached a blank page, and couldn't bring himself to write. As he tried to make sense of them, the words faded, pouring from his mind like an overflowing cup.
How could he forget this existed? He recognized his own handwriting, and the implications made his head spin. The logs were written in exhaustive detail, as if he was studying her, or possibly the strange occurrences he experienced when around her.
His head roared, the beating of his heart echoing in his skull. He tossed the book back into the drawer, slammed it shut, and sat on the bed with his hands clenching his head. The moment he felt able to retain them, the memories spilled out.
"No," he growled. The pain grew, a piercing nail driven through his mind. It forced him on his back, and he felt as if his head would explode from the pressure. Moments before he was about to scream, the pain disappeared. He stared blankly at the ceiling, gasping for breath. His heart raced as he scanned the room.
A bad dream? He thought. Why else would I be breathing so heavy? He looked to the ceiling fan, Did I fall asleep with the light on? He checked the clock on a nightstand by the bed, 3:00 A.M. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, so much so that he stood up to leave the room. He refused to let his eyes fall on the desk, and stopped. "Why don't I want to look?" He asked.
Turning his head to look took effort, as if his neck wasn't designed to turn that way. When his eyes landed on the top drawer, he inched forward, every step taken making him want to turn and run even more. His blood burned, the adrenaline coursing through him. He reached out, resting his hand on the handle of the top drawer. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull it open.
He stared at the notebook, the memory of its contents slowly coming back to him. The log taunted him. He couldn't remember. Does it matter if it really happened?
His hands resisted, shaking in the air above the notebook when he reached to pick it up. It was 4:00 in the morning, and he seriously considered waking her, demanding an explanation. In the end, he tossed the journal onto the desk, a guarantee he'd remember in the morning. He collapsed onto the bed, his head reeling, but without pain. Tyler spent his time trapped in a loop. He didn't care why, he only wanted it to stop.
Tyler struggled to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed, which lacked the comfort it always did before. When sleep came, he almost failed to notice. His room was just as it was before, and it only became obvious when the lights suddenly flashed on. He found himself in a room of white.
The shag carpet of his apartment was gone, replaced by solid wood. Tyler sat up from the bed, stood, and noticed the room was empty. He turned back to his bed and found it had vanished. Tyler smiled. He never had a dream so lifelike, especially one where he was aware of the dream, itself.
He heard an angry sigh, turned to see a redheaded woman sitting on a wooden chair in the center of the room.
“Morrigan?” Tyler said. “I can't even escape you in my own dreams?”
Morrigan tilted her head, “I am not sure if that is something I should be concerned about or if I should be flattered.”
Tyler crossed his arms, “I honestly don't know.”
Morrigan chuckled, stood up, and strolled across the room. She stopped in front of him, so close it made Tyler feel uncomfortable. "What's wrong? You seem different."
Tyler opened his mouth to speak then clasped his hands on his head, it was right there, taunting him from the tip of his tongue. "I can't remember." he growled.
"What happened."
He shook his head. "Why am I dreaming of a woman I just met?"
Morrigan nodded, "So you think I am not really here?"
"I know you're not."
“If I am not real, then there are disturbing implications for you, good sir,” Morrigan said.
“People don't teleport to strange empty rooms in real life,” Tyler began, “beds don't disappear in real life.”
Morrigan widened her eyes, "Do they not?” She reached for his hand. “I came to you in a dream for a reason. It hurt. It took effort. You don't need to know how.”
“Can I know why?” Tyler asked.
“No,” Morrigan said. She began pacing the room, circling Tyler as she did.
Tyler lowered his head, then his eyes went wide. "I-I can't remember how we met."
"Candlelight is like a filter in your brain. Your mind doesn't want to retain the memory. It filters it out."
“Never thought I was this creative,” Tyler laughed. He was talking more to himself now. "Is she even real?"
“I’m sorry?” Morrigan said, freezing in place.
“This isn't real.” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Oh, yeah. Right." Morrigan said with a devilish smile. "You're a late bloomer. That's all right. I'll break you in." She stepped forward, inching closer to him. "Define what it is to be real."
"To exist?” He replied, not fully understanding the question. He heard a distant drone. The sound was barely audible, but steadily grew in the background.
“How do you determine if something exists?”
Tyler backed away from her and into the wall behind him, but she inched forward to close the distance as he spoke. “Perception, awareness, and study. Observation, experience, and repetition.”
Her eyes seemed to see through him. Tyler felt a pulse in the walls. He heard what sounded like a heartbeat. She responded, her chin thrust out and her nose in the air, “If reality is objective, why use subjective methods to determine what is and isn't real,"
Her eyes focused on his. She was close enough for Tyler to feel her breath on his face, the heartbeat in the wall seemed to echo through the room as thick and steady trails of red emerged from the pores of the drywall.
The red liquid bloomed, traveling upward to the ceiling. His silence brought a comforting smile to her face. She rested her head against his chest, allowing him to truly take it all in. She nodded, listening in as his heart raced. His eyes remained fixed to the pool of blood that grew, spreading across the ceiling.
Morrigan reached for his face, and his eyes met hers, “Is this not observable? Can you not perceive it? You can study and repeat observations as many times as you like. I won't mind.”
“I-” he began, but couldn't form the words. "It's a dream."
"Then what good are observations. What good is perception if life itself can so easily be a dream." Her smile faded to a drown. She shook her head, “You're afraid?”
He didn't respond. The ceiling changed, completely coated in a thick pool of blood. He felt a single drop fall to his cheek. "I-"
"Stop that. Why are you afraid?"
The pulsing in the wall disappeared. The violent beat gave way to silence. She gently stroked her thumb against his cheek, wiping the drop away. He felt the warmth of it smear as she did.
“You heard,” Morrigan began. She gestured to the room, “you saw." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "You can even taste it."
Another drop fell hitting his forehead. Another landed just beside her nose. The red rained down on them, a slow drizzle gradually increasing to a downpour. She was close, her lips brushed against his.
He tried to protest, but for a brief moment he wondered if he could feel a kiss as well. He felt drawn into her. He could almost feel her mouth curl into a smile at his wonder.
He pushed his lips against hers. He felt every crease, tasted metal as the red rain trailed down their faces. He heard her breath, felt the smile grow wider as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in, so she couldn't pull away. He didn't know how long it lasted, nor when he made the regrettable decision to end the kiss.
Morrigan was not as affected. She basked in the red that flowed from above, her arms outstretched. She saw beauty in it, where he only felt disgust. She giggled through labored breathing, “We are nothing, a grain of sand in a dune sea. Not all questions have answers, nor do they need to.” Tyler began to shake his head, but she stopped him, placing a hand on his cheek once more.
“No.” He whispered, his eyes wide and body shaking.
"Yes, and you know what?” Morrigan stroked his cheek, “That's okay. We are insignificant. We don't deserve answers, and there is nothing wrong with that."
Tyler's head spun, he managed to pull his eyes away from her face. The sight and smell of the red room brought another round of nausea. His vision blurred.
She sighed, her head tilting down. She looked hurt, as if his disgust was a betrayal "Oh."
He began to speak but found himself back in his room. He woke up in his bed and gazed at the analogue clock perched on the wall. The hands danced across its face. He shuddered, the memories of the dream, or perhaps a nightmare, remained clear, "What the fuck."
That opening paragraph sounds terrifying. The constant feeling of forgetting something over and over. That'd be painful. Not to mention the realization there is more that you can't even remember forgetting. What an awful way to forget things. Add that on top of Morrigan's dream mess and the question of what existence is and Tyler must be having quite the existential crisis. Beyond that, this has to be your neatest chapter yet. That, or my mind has been completely fried after 12 hours of school work. Either or, take your pick. It's very intriguing and I'm excited to continue reading. Keep up the great work!
O.O that made my night lol. This is one of the more critical moments so it makes me soooo happy to hear that. I wanted this to be the moment that catches the reader, and hooks them. Thanks so much!
I mean. If this was your hook point, it's incredibly effective. Smashing success!