Withdrawn

A short story based on a dream.

Pale light fills the room.  The bed is half-made, with cozy dark blue sheets with pillows are strewn about.  The yellow light mixes with the white light pouring from behind the translucent brown curtains.  The TV flashes violet strips and gradient dark blue dialogue boxes in psychedelic swirl.  He sat in the chair, thumbing a controller, watching a cursor flip through dark-blue dialogue boxes and jagged fonts.  Pixelated sprites stood in front of the background, almost recognizable as monsters, or maybe people.

It was a pleasant journey.  He felt out of his element, traveling the dark colors of the screen.  It was dark and atmospheric, and it would be a story he would tell my friends later.  But he decided to take a break, pressing the popping button, hearing the ambient techno music fade into the background.

He walked out of the room, down a hallway into the living room.  Giant windows aligned the living room wall, with parted brown curtains.  The sky was dark blue, trapped in twilight.  It looked like the sun was struggling to breach the dawn  horizon, but it wasn't quite making it.  The windows gave a view of a rounded swimming pool--the water  completely still, reflecting and amplifying the blue hue of the sky.  

The same deep blue light filled the house as he walked to the kitchen.  He walked through the darkness, taking a peek in the freezer.  It didn't seem like anyone else was home.  Mother must be out.  She would probably buy ice cream sandwiches later that day.  He felt warm, anticipating the future goodies.

He turned around and spotted the clock on the oven.  A neon green 9:00 AM glared, contrasting with the deep blue darkness.  Turning around, he saw the calendar on the fridge.  It was only late June--a comforting nudge that the start of school was far away.  More time to play video games.

He stepped out the front door, into the dark morning.  There wasn't a cloud in the pale sky.  He gazed at the red brick house next door.  Everyone else must still be asleep.  He turned to look across the street, at an empty playground.  The Merry-Go-Round was dead still, though a gust of wind rippled his head.  He turned around to go back in.

Trudging on the beige living room carpet, he noticed something bright in the direction of the kitchen.  A single candle sat on the kitchen table.  The top had lightly started to melt against the gentle flame, burning on a crude black stubble.   He immediately looked away, feeling uneasy at the sight.  Wanting to forget about it, he walked back to my room.

Bright white light poured out from the bedroom window.  He sat in the wooden rocking chair, taking up the controller again.  Logos spilled across the screen, with ambient electrifying sounds.  A distinctive bell rang as the screen read "Loaded game."

He gazed into the screen, driving a sprite figure around a colorful environment.  Fantasy monsters came upon the character, as simplified voiceovers echoed against chiptunes.  While he looked at the screen, shadows danced around in the hallway.  He heard voices in the distance, but he didn't pay much mind to them.

A masculine voice bugged another feminine voice.  It was talk about cross-country.  She asked if he was ready, or if he made the appropriate calls to his friends whom he planned to visit later.  He asked if she loved him.  She nonchalantly said yes, then said she was busy.

The person staring at the screen paid no attention to the voices, only vaguely hearing them.  They seemed to whir by, as a more elder voice talked about a dinner later that evening.  It was with some people with the last name Beggs, or Barretts.  The voices then faded into the background.

When he got tired of playing, he turned the console off.  He went back down the hallway.  The living was still basked in the same twilight blue, the sun never reaching in.  The kitchen was undisturbed, with the same disorienting candle sitting on the table, and the neon-green caption on the oven reading 11 AM.  He opened the fridge and saw a box of ice-cream sandwiches.  He opened the box, tearing at the cardboard, making a bit of a rip in the side of the box.  He grabbed a sandwich, wrapped in white, and closed the freezer.

He went into the den, sitting on the side of the kitchen opposite from the living room.  The TV was on, but made no noise.  He sat on the blue sofa, opening the wrapper.  He quickly ate the sandwich, barely noticing the taste of the chocolate breading, or the bland filling in between.

He walked back through the kitchen, glaring at the candle sitting on the table.  He wanted to do something about it, but he was terrified of it.  Finally reaching the living room, he walked into the office.  The sight of the box-like monitor helped him forget about it.  The lightly curved screen, with pale colors, with dancing logos took his mind in.  He sat down at the desk, moving the mouse.  White boxes with dark blue captions filled the screen.

He moved the mouse around, clicking at random text on the screen.  He looked at pages dotted with screenshots similar to the one in his bedroom.  Then he opened up a giant box titled Wordpad, and played around with a mishmash of odd text.  He heard sounds outside the window.  Maybe they were children playing.  But he didn't pay them any heed.

He moved the arrangement of words and symbols around, constantly swapping back to another box and hitting a button titled "Refresh".  Some concoction slowly came up.  It was a menu, similar to what he saw on his TV.  He started filling it, impressed with himself.

When he got hungry again, he left the computer and walked back to the kitchen.  The day never broke, and a clock hanging on the wall had a small hand pointing to 3.  The calendar was on September.  But he paid no more mind to the calendar.  He was glad that was behind him.

But he felt anxious at staring at the candle again.  It was slightly more than half of its original height, the wax melting in a sick sculpture.  The flame kept burning, almost getting more ferocious, consuming the candle.  He opened the freezer and got another ice cream sandwich out.  After devouring it, he thought maybe he'd go swimming.

He went back to his room and put on his orange trunks.  He went back through the living room, opening the unwieldy door and stepping onto the back porch.  The air felt refreshingly cool, and not a sound was to be heard.  He jumped into the swimming pool, jumping at the cold feeling against his skin, but quickly acclimating.  Holding onto a tube, he gazed up at the lifeless blue sky.

When he got back in, there was a card on the table, with a cake.  It read "Happy Birthday, John."  Happily, he took the knife and cut himself a slice of the decadent cake.  There was money in the envelope--more to spend on new games.

But his heart sank when he looked at the candle, burning at a quarter of its length.  Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore.  The calendar was at April.  He walked out of the kitchen glumly.

Back in his bedroom, he found little solace in the console.  The flashing swirling backgrounds gave him little comfort.  He popped in a new CD, but felt so dull and drained.

He gave up, and went outside.  The sky had turned red, and the leaves were falling off the tree.  The sun was now visible, giving its sickly red glare in the west.  The playground across the street was covered in rust, and the neighbors yards were overgrown with tangle.  The sight made him cry as he ran back into the house.

He called out, but no one heard.  Those voices were long gone.  A dish with crumbs was where the cake once was.  When he opened the freezer, a single ice cream sandwich was left.  He buried his face in his hands and cried, and slammed the door shut.  The candle was nearing its end.

He panicked and ran around the house, the sickly red light getting duller.  It slowly faded into blackness.  As the night crept on, even the light from the TV seemed to obscure.  He screamed and called out, but no one heard.

Then he realized they were long gone.  Looking at the fridge, the calendar was withered and torn beyond recognition.  He was the only one left.  He sobbed and cried, screaming.  He went to the phone and picked it up, but there was no tone.  Then, he sat on the floor, holding his head in his hands, filled to the brim with regrets.

Finally, he looked up on the table again.  The candle was at its very end.  His chest thumped as he looked at it, knowing that any minute, it would go dark forever.  In desperation, he gave a final prayer to God, hoping He would forgive him.

Reviews

[Charles Anthony Almanza]

I really liked this! Very surreal, very ambient, moody and dark. I loved it. When I read "my room", I jumped for joy at the words. I assumed that you were doing something that I started doing, which is having the main character narrate from beyond the grave, but when I read the comments, I realized it wasn't intentional lol. It's still good, though.

Before I read the reviewer comment, it reminded me of this song called "Wrapped in Piano Strings" by Radical Face. It's about a dead guy as he watches the love of his life struggle to keep going, watching silently as she lives her life. Sad, poignant, and pretty deep.

Anyway, I absolutely love the gorgeous cinematic tone you have going on. Good job dude. Kudos.

[Nyida Strong]

"He felt out of his element, traveling the dark colors of the screen. It was dark and atmospheric," -- I'd drop the first 'dark' and let the next sentence carry the weight.

This is a style that I've not come across too often. Not many can pull of surrealist and make it work. There were points where I wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but then neither is your character. The confusion he feels translates to the audience well.

And I noticed that you go between third and first person views. "His room" becomes "my room". Is this intentional, adding to the style? Good job, Veredant.

[Verdant Cynic]

Actually, that is not intentional. Thank you for pointing that out. I'll need to do a revision.read moreActually, that is not intentional. Thank you for pointing that out. I'll need to do a revision.

He himself isn't confused. A lot of this is very symbolic. It's scary how the easily this seemed to flow when I started writing it.

[RyanXIII]

i love your writing style keep it up