I began writing a novel in order to soothe myself but once I close my laptop I am reminded of my very state of existence. I have dropped my opening to my chapter 9 as I find it relevant to the topic of this site. I don't believe one needs any form of the novels background to understand its meaning. I hope you find what I wrote relatable, enjoyable, meaningful—whatever you feel or think, I just hope you take something from it.
We arrive unbidden, yet we dream of choosing our own departure—my inner voice said to me from sleep once day had broken in its name only. The horizon, if only I could see it, paled into a fainter strain of night. I snapped the cord, got out the bay and stared beyond the glass to the screen opposite of me that flared awake in a purplish light. REM—the words flashed in bursts that drove my circuits wildly into a state of euphoria. A Delta woman soon appeared on screen. Her hair, as well as her eyes, the shade of candyfloss. Her chromium gleamed beneath a constellation of starburst lights that encumbered her sleeping chambers. And red candles lit around her bedside as she tucked herself under the covers of fine fabrics. The cable slid into the back of her occipital. Her lashes began to flutter shut and the camera slowly panned inward—she was dreaming of electric sheep.
"Dreams Do Come True." The voice carried loud enough for her flock to hear—the ones who suffer, who cry, who are dying inside. The ones who long for sleep for it is the only place where true escape lies. Where no harm can come of them. Where they can be invisible or visible at their own heart's content. Never to feel discarded in a world that knows only how to be mean. As life isn't what it claims itself to be.
We arrive unbidden, yet we dream of choosing our own departure—my inner voice said to me from sleep once day had broken in its name only. The horizon, if only I could see it, paled into a fainter strain of night. I snapped the cord, got out the bay and stared beyond the glass to the screen opposite of me that flared awake in a purplish light. REM—the words flashed in bursts that drove my circuits wildly into a state of euphoria. A Delta woman soon appeared on screen. Her hair, as well as her eyes, the shade of candyfloss. Her chromium gleamed beneath a constellation of starburst lights that encumbered her sleeping chambers. And red candles lit around her bedside as she tucked herself under the covers of fine fabrics. The cable slid into the back of her occipital. Her lashes began to flutter shut and the camera slowly panned inward—she was dreaming of electric sheep.
"Dreams Do Come True." The voice carried loud enough for her flock to hear—the ones who suffer, who cry, who are dying inside. The ones who long for sleep for it is the only place where true escape lies. Where no harm can come of them. Where they can be invisible or visible at their own heart's content. Never to feel discarded in a world that knows only how to be mean. As life isn't what it claims itself to be.
