Sunday, 26 February 2012

Brilliant White Light

My friend told me to open my eyes after that as he eased me back out of my reverie and into the real world. I thanked him for the help and said I wouldn't be needing his services anymore. Then I went back to my car and drove home.

I got home a few minutes ago and put the news on. The anchor just got finished saying there's been a lack of Archangle murders for a couple days, which put a smile on my face. Math never hurt anybody.

I had just put my gas mask and calculus book away when my psychologist friend came in and pointed a gun at my head. It's about time.

"I remember the first time she came to me," he's saying. He's explaining why I'm gonna die. There's no need, I already know.

My name is Nikolai, and I'm done dreaming. It's time to stand and face the light.

Harlequin Metropolis
Written by DJay32
Heavily based on Dream Theater's Metropolis, part 2: Scenes from a Memory
I give full permission for Harlequin Metropolis to be used in however the Fearbloggers see fit

Carry On

This is where the reverie surprised me.

I turned to head in the direction of the screaming, and I saw Vicky. Not Lisa, not Callum, not any other person from this 1950s world, but Vicky. She looked at me and she said, "Don't weep at my grave because I am no longer here, Nikolai. Please never let your memory of me disappear."

Things started to fall into place, 'cause shortly after, Callum came in and shot her. This is how my girlfriend died. It wasn't 1950, it was 2011. It was her apartment.

And there's other things I really don't want to say about it. I'm sorry, but I can become a better person without having to share all my information.

I'm safe in the light that surrounds me, and I finally feel at peace with the girl in my dreams.

Hell, if I was a little more naive, I'd say I might even give math a second chance.


After work, I got back to looking around my neighborhood for anything that could tell me anything about this old murder. I heard a rumor of the switchblade involved, that it was the Archangle's former murder weapon. I'm not sure if I buy that, but it's a fuckin' lead, isn't it?

I went down to my friend's for my appointment, and he put me back in that trance. I'm pretty sure it's called a reverie, but that might not be it, I dunno. You know what I mean, whatever.

This time, I was back in the apartment in the 1950s. I was myself, no one else, and I heard a woman screaming nearby and some man pleading forgiveness. I was about to see the murder with my own eyes.


On the way to and from work today, I couldn't stop thinking of numbers. They're all around me.

It's 2 miles to work, I have to pass down 3 streets on the way. Gas prices are at around 4 dollars per gallon. Bread costs 75 cents for a loaf. Even in the things I love, I can bench-press 249 pounds, my car costs 58,000 dollars. If I divide the price of my car by three, 19,333, I can still afford the 2 other cars I had before this one.

When I actually start doing math, I kinda feel like I'm having sex. Well, not really. Shit, fuck that, that's completely untrue, I don't feel like that at all. I don't know why I said that.

The Referee and the Cheater

My dream last night was a lot more complicated than usual.

It started with Callum. I saw, through the mirror, life as Callum in the 1950s. He walked through the front door of a casino and was greeted by people saying "Welcome to the Referee!" At least, that's what it sounded like.

Callum started blowing all his money on stupid bullshit, throwing all his money away on slots and betting. Every now and then, he'd go to the bathroom and bust out the dope. And he kept chanting "Shine, lake of fire. Lines, take me higher. My mind drips desire, confined and overtired."

Things, after a while, started to get pretty trippy. It was like he got superhuman strength, he started casting fire on everything in sight, and just.. yeah, it was your typical dream-like fare. Or maybe that was just the drugs. Callum was clearly fuckin' mental. He had to be drowning out his sorrows or something, surely. I can empathize. He looked like he was gonna lose his fuckin' mind when he looked into that mirror in the bathroom.

After a while, things changed to some other man. It was another voice pulling out a cigarette and saying, "I remember the first time she came to me. She poured out her soul all night and cried. I remember, I was told there's a new love that's born for each one that had died." Turns out this douchebag was fuckin' sleeping with Lisa while Callum was away at the Referee. I don't know who this guy was, but I know my mind placed him as my psychology friend 'cause it didn't have anyone else to put it to.

The dream continued, and I was presented with two mirrors. One of them showed me, through Callum's eyes, himself pouring his sorrows into gambling. The other showed me the intense fuckin' cheating of that douchebag. I can still hear Lisa's moaning, I guess you could say my dream left that much of an impression on me or something.

By the time I woke up, I told myself I was definitely putting all I could into figuring this shit out. If my dream was to be believed, I may have found out why Callum killed himself and Lisa. But I need to find out more about the other man.

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Here Lies Her Eyes

Hearing about that old murder reminded me to visit the Oak Church Cemetery after my appointment. I stopped by for some lilies on the way. I found the grave for Victoria Garnder, and I put the lilies down. I miss you, Vicky.

On my way home, I got to thinkin' about my life, and how I got to be like this. I was framed when I was younger, after all. You could definitely say that life wasn't kind to me and whether I was all the better or worse for it, that's up to you, and I frankly don't even know if I fuckin' care what you think of me at this point. But one thing stayed true in my mind: If I stay afraid of shit, then I'm better off being put outta my misery by this bullshit Archangle. I gotta stay strong, ignore my instincts, and figure my life out.

And that's gonna start with looking more into this murder of my dreams.


In this state of dreamlike thought (I'm sure there's a better word for this), I felt myself in this 1950s street. Many things were different, but it was mostly just the culture and people. The layout of the street was exactly as it is today, and I even saw some familiar people who I know today to be really fuckin' old.

I found the newspaper vendor, and I checked out the newspaper.

Desperate shooting at Echo's Hill Apartments
Dreadful ending, killer died. Evidently suicide.

After reading the article, I started to get a much better idea of what the fuck happened. Apparently, there was a woman named Lisa and a man called Callum, and they were going out, right? But Callum turned to things like crack and gambling, and Lisa couldn't stand it so she arranged to break up with him that night. But Callum pulled a gun on her, and then when a witness came because of the gunfire, he tried to help but Callum turned the weapon on himself.

They found a switchblade on Lisa, and a suicide letter on Callum saying he'd sooner kill himself than live with losing her. So yeah, this was a strange case, and I mean, it sounds straightforward but what was that about a switchblade and stuff?

I dunno. I came out of my dreamlike state later and, again, asked my friend to schedule me another appointment for tomorrow.

Only a Transition

After that dream, I wanted to actually do some shit. So I left my house and started looking into this. Just down the street, I found the scene of the murder, people freaking out and waiting on the cops to arrive.

The living room looked exactly like the one in my dream, so I knew for sure that I was somehow dreaming of the right stuff. I could probably get rich if I figured out how to exploit this. But for now, I was a little too worried about the fact that there was a fucking serial killer killing people with the very thing I am afraid of.

I found an older dude who saw me and wanted to talk to me. I felt like I could trust him, I dunno, don't judge me. He looked at me like some kind of war veteran analyzing me for weaknesses, and then he said, "Bet you didn't know that this was not the first murder to happen here." Of course I didn't, what do I look like, some CIA dude? "There was a murder of a girl here that was talked about for years. It was unsolved, a mystery still today." So I asked him what the fuck he wanted me to do about it, and he laughed and said, "Sleep on it."

So I went back to sleep for the last few hours of the night. You know what I dreamed of? Being in that same fuckin' house by that same fuckin' mirror. But this time, in the mirror, I saw that house in the 1950s. It's all I saw, though, 'cause I woke up shortly after and had to go to work.

After work, I stopped by my friend's for my next appointment. This time, I wanted to figure out what happened with that other murder.

My Words

I went to bed and dreamt of Vicky and I getting together. I wanted to nail her right there, but Vicky wanted to just embrace and talk about our feelings. She's into that kind of thing, but it's okay with me, she's got one hell of a body.

Just as she was getting into some talk about being together forever, my dream switched. I was in that house again, and the mirror was there. And yep, in the mirror, I could see through someone else's eyes. This person was reading some sorta book about paradoxes or something when he heard a door nearby open. And there, gas mask and calculus book, was the Archangle. Hook, line, and sinker. I woke up in the middle of the night as that dude died.

Friday, 24 February 2012

The Person who I Wasn't

Anyway, now that that sob story's done, we can move on with this shit. Back to the experience with my friend.

So there I was, in my safe place, reliving my life like scenes in some movie, right? Then I was suddenly in equally-familiar grounds. In front of me was some house, but the peculiar thing about this place was that I've actually dreamed about it before. A lot. But now I wasn't dreaming, now I was just..... well, I was in my head somehow or something. Like a dream but I'm awake. So with complete control, I walked up to the house and felt myself being called up the stairs.

Up those stairs, I found writing on the wall. "Embrace the Archangle." So I said, "Who the fuck is the Archangle?" And more writing appeared. "Look in the mirror, my friend."

And in the mirror, I saw a fuckin' dream playing out, as if the mirror were some kinda TV screen set to a channel for dreams.

In this dream, I was someone different. Dunno who, I just wasn't me. And it was the middle of the night. I was getting up to go to the bathroom when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I went to check it out, and there was a dude in a gas mask and trenchcoat clutching some kind of book. The book was lifted up and slammed into my face with force this guy didn't even look to have. And the person who I wasn't fell to the floor and died, and the last thing I saw before the dream ended and mirror broke.. was a calculus book.

This was the Archangle. And he's just murdered someone.

I came to shortly after, told my friend to schedule me for another appointment tomorrow, and left to the streets. First thing I saw was a newspaper vendor. Today's headline? ODD 'MATH' SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE. No fuckin' way.

It's Over, Sure

Before I continue talkin' about my life here, I should probably tell you about... well, my life.

My parents were good folk, I guess. Dad always did his best, I was mom's pride and joy. I lived smack-dab in the middle of the city all my life, went to PS-one-eighteen growin' up and everything.

Now, uh. You may not guess this just from lookin' at me, but growing up, I was a bit of a math nerd. I got all the highest grades in math, in geometry, in pre-al, in algebra, and I was a master of angles n' the like. But I always got picked on for it. Hell, in tenth grade, the kids went out and set up a fuckin' elaborate scheme that resulted in me accidentally sending the principal to the hospital just by answering a math problem. These guys were masters of major dickery. I still don't know how they did it.

But I was ostracized for it, and to top it all off, sent to court. Spent a weekend in jail, devastated my parents, fucked up my GPA, and I had no idea what the fuck had even happened. Because of this gnarly travesty, I grew to despise numbers. I grew to fear math. Took up a hobby in cars and weight-lifting. I can't go wrong here.

And if I ever see those asses who ruined my life? Well, they won't see me.

Falling Backwards

Most of my dreams are even weirder than the one I described. I've dreamt of things ranging from cars exploding in a fiery embrace to amish dudes brofisting before duking it out in Smash Bros. Melee. Luckily, I have a friend who says he can help. This guy is one of those college-type guys, and he's gonna major in psychology or some shit. Says he can try what he knows to help me with my dreams.

I went to him today, actually. And he had me lie down on one of those fancy therapist bed-chair things, and he read me my miranda rights or whatever, I really don't fuckin' pretend to understand what he does. But he did this countdown thing going from ten to one, and he wanted me to close my eyes and relax. By the time he hit one, I admit I did feel somethin', and I mean it was somethin' other than last night's curry.

I saw a white light shining there before me, and walking to it, I waited for the end. Nothin' came. I felt... safe. I dunno. Felt like all the assholes I've met in my life couldn't get to me. After a while, I didn't even feel like I was in the office with my friend anymore, y'know? Kinda felt psychedelic, like the first time I lit up a big one and my dorm-mate Dave Sopertano put Pink Floyd on the radio. I was never one for that fancy music, but nothin' opens your tastes like Roger Waters and Mary Jane. Like then, I spaced out. I almost felt like I was really there, like my life was playing out in front of me. Like some kind of big-screen movie.

Finally, I saw Vicky. The girlfriend I mentioned earlier. It was so good to see her.

I was really fuckin' happy, man.


Last night, I dreamed of some fuckin' queer things.

The dream started off as May began, and there was some broad standin' on the top of a hill. Nighttime came pretty damn quick, and I just knew this broad was upset. I don't know what the bitch was bawlin' about, 'course not, but it made me almost want to scream.

Then someone died. I don't know who it was, but I just know someone did 'cause this village started grieving for him. And I.. like, I was there in the funeral. And people were whispering things to each other, things like "There's a new love that's born for each one that had died."

Next, my dream moved on to some dude who grew from a kid to an adult really fuckin' quick. As a kid, he thought he could live without pain, and that's actually pretty hilarious. Then he's an adult, and he's asleep but scared shitless.

And then I saw a city. It looked like where I live, but the buildings were taller and brighter. A word popped into my head: Deception.

A man walked into the city, and since this was a dream, I called him "the third" without any real reason. I dunno, he was just the third! I saw some evil shit in his eyes, and even though I was nowhere near him, he looked straight at me and saw everything I ever was.

And then I dreamed I had sex with my girlfriend. Woke up shortly after.

Tell me that's not the craziest dream you've ever heard. I dare you.

My name's Nikolai, and I dream.