The opposite of dreams

((I was going to submit a short version of this to the Tales of the Underworld fiction contest, but missed the deadline... so I decided to go ahead and type this piece of inspiration up as a fuller story.))

It was dark outside in the forest. It was a night where most people would be cautious of their surroundings. However, the rain helped calm the atmosphere of this particular night; the moisture fell gently, pattering on the leaves and the roof of a cabin. The gentle sound belied the dangers of dark nights within a wild forest in the middle of nowhere. And yet, a light shined through the window of the nearby cabin, its owner within bent over a desk with a quill and a book. He seemed completely at ease, where most would be more worried about things that go bump in the night.

But it didn't matter to this man. He was writing a story.

<i>Let me tell you of a certain man. This man was dangerous, and emotionally unstable. He held the weight of his world on his shoulders. And I got to know this man quite well, by a certain stroke of luck.

He was quite forthright with his 'reality' as he called it. This man's reality came about when he was around 20 seasons of age. He was involved in some sort of accident upon a sailing vessel. Somehow he wound up overboard and, luckily, was washed ashore the mainland.

Yet, somehow, his world changed. He saw things for the opposite of what they really were. He thought he was in a nightmare, but it turned out that this nightmare was much worse, for it was his new reality.

Remember those rumors of murders along the southeast shore? They were unsolved, yet everyone knew that they were not caused by monsters or animals, but by a human being.

But what if this human thought the people he murdered were vile creatures?

Even now, this man admitted to me that he did kill those people, although he did not know it at the time. And yet, he feels no remorse for his actions. Thus, his 'reality' is questioned, and comes into play.

What if you saw the world as nothing but grotesque images? One day, you are living out your normal life on a fishing vessel. You're caught in a storm and are washed overboard. You vaguely recall getting smacked in the head with something, and the next thing you know you're washed up on some beach. Alive, but not very well at all.

This man... he was not caught with murdering people. And here he is, admitting this and allowing this to be written on paper. Without a care in the world. Even now, he sees people as monsters. It took a while for him to figure this out, that his reality had completely changed. The food he eats tastes terrible, the sounds he hears grate on his nerves, the people he speaks to are not only hard to understand, but unbearable to listen to for too long. </i>

The man pauses for a moment, and reaches into a bowl to grab something small, round, and soft to eat. He chews on the morsel of food for a moment before dipping his pen into a vial of ink.

<i> I cannot understand what can cause a man to have his perspective change so rapidly. Yet, here he is, a man who experiences everything differently than what they really are in "reality".

Yet, what is "reality"? It is what each of us perceives through our senses. Maybe we can't explain it completely, but what we do know is that our reality seems normal to us because it is what everyone seems to perceive it as. The smell of a tree's leaves, the taste of honey, the heat of a fire.

This man does not perceive our reality. He experiences it in a different way. In fact, I do not think he even knows anyone else who seems to be like him.

Actually, there is one person. He met her a few weeks after he realized what was going on. He was "at the edge" as he said in his own words. He was close to dashing himself against the rocks of a cliff, when this woman came into his life. She was unlike anything else he encountered for the past few weeks. She smelled good, was pleasing to look at, and best of all, sounded normal.

Their relationship grew as time went on. She went so far as to trying to cook different foods for him, to see if she can find anything he liked. They never ate together (she always seemed to eat before the man ate) but eventually, almost by accident, the man found food that he actually enjoyed. It just happened to be the same as what the woman ate.

And so, life went on for this man. Now, he leads a somewhat normal life. He is still a recluse, and the woman he met helps take care of him. His condition remains unchanged, but he has fully accepted his new reality. In fact, he cannot really remember how the old reality was like anymore.

In fact, one could argue, with the loss of everything he once perceived as normal, he found something special and more real than anyone of us may ever find in our lives. This man, and the woman (who, by the way, he never introduces to others in public) that he met fulfill eachothers' needs in more ways than one.

Theirs is a deeper love that no one can understand. </i>

The man set down his quill as the cabin's door opens and shuts. A voice says something, unintelligible if listening from outside the cabin. The man smiles in response.

"Ahh. Dinner, love?"

The man moves beyond the light of the lamp, and soon returns to his desk with a bowl of stringy food. He sucks it down like spaghetti and munches happily before returning to his book.

Outside, the rain falls harder as the storm grows. Lightning flashes, and in the brief light, one can see a slick, shiny trail leading up to the door of the cabin.