Who Is Brian Quinn?

Two Peaches Doesn't Make a Pie

So this is what it's like to die in a dream, thought Hiram.

He sat on a rickety chair in a dimly lit waiting room. His feet on worn linoleum, a checkered white and blue pattern that didn't seem to have been swept in ages. It seemed a typical waiting room, possibly a dentist's or a clinic though the dim lighting and hazy daylight coming from the window running the length of the door made it feel as though you were in the middle of a dream.

It was a large silent room. The only sound seemed to be an occasional cough and the shifting of feet on the floor, sounding like pieces of paper moving against each other. The several chairs were all taken. Maybe fifty people filled the waiting room. A woman in a white cap and glasses sat behind a window at a counter near the front door. Leaning over, Hiram caught a glimpse of Gary sitting several chairs down staring at his hands. Where are we? wondered Hiram. When he thought about it he found it didn't really matter. He didn't seem to care.

His bandages had disappeared. The wound itself had disappeared entirely. He pressed a hand to his abdomen. No pain, nothing. Good as new, he said to himself. He settled back into his chair and waited.

The woman behind the window stood and maneuvered her way into the room holding a clipboard. Her shoes made a smacking sound on the linoleum. Hiram noticed she wore a uniform. A white one piece dress that extended to her knees, white nylons and bulky white shoes. For some reason her glasses made her look like a mosquito. She came further into the room and stopping in front of Hiram looked around as though she might recognize someone. She glanced at her clipboard.

"Excuse me," whispered Hiram.

"Beg pardon," she said, glancing down.

"Excuse me," he said again. "Where are we?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I mean," he stammered. "Am I dreaming, or..."

"Are you dreaming?" she lowered the clipboard. "I'm sorry but there is no dreaming allowed here."

Hiram said nothing. He could think of nothing to say.

"If you are dreaming," she continued. "Then I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Leave?" he whispered. He felt confused and moved a hand through his hair as he sat back.

"Although you couldn't leave even if I asked you. Even if I asked nicely. This is the other side," she spoke as though her teeth were made of candy, as though she were standing in front of a mirror.

"The other side?" whispered Hiram.

The woman continued to look over the room then called out a name. A girl, a youngish woman raised her hand and stood.

Approaching the woman in white, the girl spoke. "I'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to be here." Her tone subdued, "There's been a mistake."

"Mistake?" said the woman. "I hardly think so."

"Yes, there's been a terrible mistake. You see, I wasn't really killed. I was dreaming."

"Mm hmm. Of course you were," replied the woman in white.

"But in the dream I wasn't the one who was supposed to get killed. There was a mix up. I got the wrong fortune cookie and..."

"Save it for the judge," said the woman.

"The judge?" said the girl.

Hiram could tell the girl was struggling to remain calm, her wild black hair seemed to imply a willful and headstrong nature, while her eyes were those of a dreamer, the kind that sleeps the day away.