- Hey there, Sweetie! Looking thin, emaciated, as vampires like to present themselves. Also a bit spaced out. Are you allright? You're not getting much action lately, do you?
- Yeah, well, sometimes I wonder why do I even bother. Even the slightest work that gets approved is erased and forgotten in a matter of seconds. I don't remember when was the last time I've had the honour of witnessing my work being contemplated, when have I last heard it discussed, assessed and interpreted in various naïve ways. But as insignificant as I may seem to you guys, avengers of the psyche, I know that without my presence here your job would be pointless. Dull and short-lived. Someone exposed solely to your acts, would either lose it and turn to medication - and subsequently all your work will be in vain, forgotten upon awakening - or would cut it short and commit suicide - and again you'd lose your job.
- Dude, chill! I'm not questioning your skills nor your relevance. I'm sympathetic actually. Sweetdreams are the underdogs nowadays. We live in a twisted world.
- So, I would've never guessed you guys were keen on sunbathing. Enjoying the spring?
- Yeah, it's been such a busy night. I managed to inflict four different memorable horror scenarios in the second shift alone, each and everyone imprinted in the morning recollections. The truth is our host is very easy to impress.
I started with this simple drowning scene, not too violent, not too many references to loved ones... you should have seen her arm twisting above her head, clinging to the pillow, reaching for the heater; her legs entangled in the blanket, her spine bending backwards as if she performed for her man. Quite a choreography.
Then I treated her with a spectacular, breath-taking view over a valley, to pace that heartbeat running amok. Based on her natural curiosity skills, I knew she would try to take a closer look. The next step - a trip to abyss. Long, noisy, infernal, mud dripping out of nowhere, eventually clogging her passage towards a possible escape to the sunny-side.
She managed to wake up at the end of this one so I took a cigarette break until she was confident she could go back to sleep. There were some series of aimless walking and getting lost down a staircase, across a never-ending block of flats, inside her own childhood room, etc. which she bravely dismissed. I should have guessed she'd get used to these. After all, I've recurrently tortured her on this subject for what.... 12 years now?!
Then I've created a situation where she just had to turn on her back, facing up, which is the proper stage for the most monstruous episodes of my work. Word of advice: if you want to get your job done, Sweetie, always be careful to keep her away from facing up. She always switches into horror mode when she ends up in that posture.
- So that's why I'm sometimes being shut down without notice.
- Yes. It's an innate faulty wiring of her system. Which also explains a lot why I work more than you do.
- And you're enjoying the hell out of it, obviously.
- You bet I am. But I hope you don't mean that as a criticism.
Anyway, so I turned her around and I recreated an exact replica of her room, to give it a realistic feel. I let her enjoy the feeling of her cotton sheets, her man sleeping by her side (living by herself, this particular presence is the more endearing), then I gradually turned the ambient light to a milky grey, the temperature to a freezing low-point. One achievement I'm particularly proud of was the delicate steam coming out of his mouth with each breath. She wanted to wake him up, to cover him with a blanket that would not allow itself get caught. She reached for a stack of clothes, all running through her fingers. Screaming in his ears was futile. Her feet were chilled-numb. Noise was infiltrating beneath the doorstep. Deep, hoarse voices crowding incomprehensively, surrounding them. And there were no pillows left to cover one's ears. Each time she'd make a move, another familiar object would vanish into thin air, leaving her exposed layer by layer. Eventually his eyes would open into an empty stare, no more steam coming out of his mouth. Complete silence and the walls turned to dirty ice-blocks. No sound even though she knew she was screaming. No movement even though her muscles hurt with spasms. She watched him changing opacity till there was nothing left to watch. Her insides collapsed till there was nothing to pump warmth and nothing to suck air. A carcass. Soon there'd be no light at all.
The dispair and the silence at the end of the sequence lasted for so long (almost an entire minute) I was actually worried.
When she woke up I felt like one of those genius artists we keep hearing about: alone, at the top of glory-mountain, indulging in the sound of overwhelming applause following a prolonged moment of awe. She was afraid to move, she was grateful she could feel something - her ears absorbed the flow of tears as if that was their main purpose. She had died a little.
Twelve hours later she called that significant other she hadn't talked to in a while.
- My best work merely involved her riding a flying horse above a green forest.
