Present Dreams

The Third of Six, Short and Senseless Stories

Present Dreams

The year was two-thousand eighteen, just about mid-summer, when a man with no name arose early one morning. It had been a night of aberrations… one of those night’s sleep so full of mirage and vision, of such imaginings… and yet, it was one of those night’s sleep that past in a flash. There followed a moments bewilderment for the man… what day was it, for example… and who was he, was another good one. It was a few minutes more, that past, before the haze of sleep fell quietly away and he was under starter’s-orders. He had a busy day planned, did the nameless man… and there was not a moment to lose.

He powered up a top of the line laptop… and logged on with a bottom of the line password; he just sat there, did the man of repute, pondering deeply upon breakfast. He had all the necessary means within immediate reach, but there was a fabulous deli just around the corner, a mere minutes’ stroll away. They did a rollicking good brunch, did the good old corner Deli. He found their website easily… ordering a home delivery BLT, a quart of fresh juice, and a double espresso with sprinkles in the shape of an ovum… and oh, rapture, thrown into the deal, seemingly, were a load of on-line cookies too - yummy, yummy. It would be sixty minutes for delivery though; a bit rich, for a week day, thought the man. He could hardly complain though; if for a few moments effort, he could have knocked the lot up himself, but that was hardly the point… this was London convenience for goodness sakes… and so all the stuff in the apartment was for show alone and simply a mark of the man’s wealth.

He was a man splendidly gratified by all his appliances and accessories, gleaming like they did… unused paraphernalia it was, sat side by side and vying for space, bathed in sunlight streaming through floor to ceiling windows, whilst outside, birds perched upon flourishing branches were in full chorus. Oh, yes, life was rich and full indeed; much like the large open-plan flat, jam-packed with technological innovations and a walk-in fridge. This was his latest pride and joy… eclipsing the very short-lived bliss, upon discovering the football pitch sized 4K television delivered just last week, could be as 4K ready as it liked, but was of little use until 4K broadcasting was the norm. It was disappointing to say the least. There were no such issues with the fridge though… well, apart from having to remove the bay windows to get the darn thing in, that is… but it was worth it. It really was. This goliath of a fridge sat tall and wide, humming with energy and brimming with produce; including rashers of thick, Danish bacon, lush Cos lettuce and litres of pressed juice; recently delivered within a time slot selected in accordance with his bottomless availability.

The big wait to eat was on. Meanwhile, the spectacular ‘American style’ fridge was itself, chomping upon enough electricity to power a small nation, whilst inside, all sorts of foodstuffs were careering towards their sell-by dates. He did not give it a thought though… instead, he idly messaged some close friends. Happily, they responded tout suite, heartening the man… and even more so, at their promise to turn up, bang on time; which is more than could be said about his breakfast. The man held no truck at all with other folk’s tardiness. His own was okay, of course, but all the others… well, on their heads be it. He would certainly be grumbling if breakfast was late. It would not be the only grumble either…. his stomach was in the middle of lodging an audible protest, when suddenly, the doorbell chimed. Good God, he exclaimed aloud! This was a first; it was only ten minutes late… except it was not his breakfast. It was a Jehovah’s Witness. ‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways’, chimed the beaming chap; but the man was only moved to slam the door in the man of faith’s face. 

He stalked back into the flat in silent contempt and turned on the television. The news reporter spewing something unbecoming about world poverty was an unusually large person… but these faceless victims were nothing to the man… as the words dissolved meaninglessly into the temperature-controlled room. The man was irked and flicked over to ITV74. Immediately, adverts began peppering his senses. A particularly alluring on-line dating site displaying society's finest photo-shopped crumpet was peachy, whereupon he found himself mulling over what level of deceit would best enamour a suitable match… something to focus the mind after his friends had left for the day. The doorbell went for a second time. He answered the door idly, sneering at the nameless delivery driver. He did not bother to tip… the fool must be busy enough as it is, surely; what other reason could he possibly have for such a delay. He watched from the bay windows as the frail driver clambered into a rusting van and went on his way.

The man’s friends were yet to arrive and further preparations were a necessity. Just next to the deli, there was a convenience store, a place of endless fascination for the man. He found their website and began ordering all sorts of kit and caboodle. It was sometime a little later by the time he had answered the door three times to the same dratted deliveryman. The man of repute, wagered with himself, the delivery guy rather fancied swapping for his life… dream on, was his conclusion. There was no guilt for him; people such as himself kept the great unwashed in employ, and no matter how much they complained, they ought to think themselves more fortunate.

Everything was ready. There was just enough time for a quick profile makeover before meeting the lads. He logged on, but was too late; his three best friends he had never met in person were already wittering. One of them was wearing a cool t-shirt; 'Do not trust atoms, they make up everything', it read. It was amazing how well one could know someone these days … one of them was an astrophysicist for NASA, he was the t-shirt wearer… another was making waves on the professional tennis circuit, whilst the last fella never said what he did, but from the look of his wobbling chops and girth, perhaps he was some sort of food critic. They laughed together, ooh, how they laughed… they compared gaming statistics, the latest HBO offerings, twittering and FB… and finally, the girls. They were bragging about having super model girlfriends from Eastern Europe, buxom lasses with tantalising names, and apparently, all ordered on-line and no questions asked. He excused himself immediately, leaving in his wake a plagiarised anecdote depicting individual greatness. He began playing Mario Karts to muster the necessary bravado, finally succumbing and arranging a date with an incredible creature called Tatiana, which assuredly, was not her real name. He too, lied about himself.

Suddenly, he awoke, late and flustered. The dingy one bedroom flat was a parody of his present dreams, as he dashed out the door and into a rusting van for the days’ dratted delivery schedule…

End of…