I’ve started writing a new novel. I’m pretty happy about where it’s going, so I’m going to post an excerpt from it. It’s definitely a VERY rough draft so keep that in mind as you’re reading it.
“The dreams have become increasingly difficult to deal with lately. They’re always the same. It seems to be the only thing I dream about anymore. Every minute sensation sticks out in my head like I’m reliving that moment again.”
Peter sits back and shifts in his seat. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he wipes it off with one swift motion, leaving a large damp spot on his sleeve. Collapsing his head into his cupped hands, chest heaving and collapsing in a rhythmic pattern, he does his best to recollect himself and settle in front of his laptop.
“Veronica and I were walking across the street from her house to mine. It was something we had done nearly every day for the majority of our childhood lives. We were half way across the street when it happened.
I’ve never been a particularly observant person. I tend to spend the majority of the time in a haze induced fog. Veronica yelled and shocked me out of my trance just in time for me to turn and see an out of control car hurling in our direction. We both managed to jump out of the way, but I can still see the car screaming past within inches of my face. I can feel the heat emanating from the car against my skin. I can hear the screeching of the wheels, and blacking out as my head struck the pavement.
Every night I wake up at the point where I blacked out. Every night I relive that moment. I can’t even begin to count the times I’ve woken up in the middle of the night to find myself shaking and drenched in sweat. Veronica is always there for me though. She gets up with me, and hugs me, and tells me that everything is going to be fine.
She thinks that I should start seeing a psychiatrist. I don’t see the point in it. I don’t think it will stop the dreams, because none of this is real anyway.”
Peter stands up and goes to pour a cold glass of water. It’s still early in the morning and he hasn’t yet changed out of the shorts and shirt that he had slept in the night before. The dream was fresh in his mind when he woke up and he wanted to start writing while the iron ‘was still hot. He walks by the bed and runs his fingers along the side of Veronica’s face before settling in front of his laptop.
“Oh, how I wish that this was real.”
“And this! This is where I usually lose my new readers. Those of you who have been reading my blog since the beginning know exactly what’s coming, and I talk about it in every blog so why break from tradition now. Here comes the crazy Peter theory. It needs to be explained to fully understand why going to a psychiatrist cannot possibly help me.
The car hit me. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that the car hit me. The blacking out wasn’t from my head hitting the road. It was from the grill of the car cracking against my cranium. Ever since that day I have been living in a coma. I have been traveling through a predetermined world that my subconscious has placed in front of me.
I’ve thought about killing myself, but what would it really accomplish? Would I die in the real world? That’s hardly likely. It is more likely that my subconscious will weave its web of deception and come up with some rationality for why my attempt at fleeing this mortal coil failed.
If I try to shoot myself in the head, then I botched the shot and will live my life as a disfigured mutant. Drown myself? Someone, probably Veronica, saves me from the depths of my self loathing at the last possible moment. Every possibility I can think of, I can also think of a reason why it would be a failed attempt, and I know that if I can come up with a way then my subconscious can come up with a way.
Really take a moment to think about it. How many times have you narrowly escaped death? That time you almost got in a car accident. What about when something magically prevented you from sliding off a cliff on your bike? People don’t give the mind credit for how great and powerful it truly is. The mind will do whatever it needs to do to protect the body, because it knows that it is nothing without the body and that the body is nothing without it.”
Veronica slips a robe over her petite, alabaster body as she goes up and wraps her arms around Peter’s shoulders. Her red hair looks like fire in the light shining through the apartment window. “It’s almost time to go meet our friends Peter.”
Peter shrugs and points to the screen. “I’m almost done. I just have a couple more paragraphs to write for my blog, and then I’ll be ready to leave. I’ll just throw on some jeans and a different shirt.
Veronica smiles and Peter can’t help but to smile too. “Oh, alright then, I’ll take a quick shower and then we can walk to the coffee shop together.”
“Now you people, who aren’t really people at all I guess, but really mere fragmentations of my psyche, know why it would be ludicrous for me to visit a psychiatrist. It would be me talking to myself. I’m no help to myself. If I was able to help myself then I wouldn’t have any need to go to a psychiatrist in the first place.
So I continue to write this blog for you, who are me, and somehow my brain has come to the conclusion that the real me thinks that someone would actually pay me to write this shit. Ever since I turned my story into a book entitled ‘A Great and Powerful Thing’, which sold ten copies mind you, one of the ‘people’ who bought a copy has been paying me to write this blog. Apparently my subconscious thinks it’s completely believable for someone to pay me to write this drivel, but it’s not believable that more than ten people would buy my book. Oh, how my subconscious truly does ‘get me.’