The Dreamer

The chill autumn breeze slipped into the open window with a whisper, rippling the long curtains, and curled around Scott Morgan's exposed leg. He shoved it back under the heavy silk comforter, still dazed with sleep. As he was beginning to doze again, his digital timekeeper struck six and the alarm went off with a series of ear-splitting beeps.

"Shut up," Scott mumbled groggily into his pillow. The accursed thing continued mercilessly, immune to his plea. He scrabbled for the small remote on the shelf beside him and found the mute button, pointing at the timekeeper. The infernal machine ceased its noise immediately and the young man slipped back into dreamland.

An hour later, Scott awoke slowly, stretching his long limbs across the bed languidly. Suddenly he jumped up.

"I overslept!" he groaned. He rushed to the bathroom, then stopped as a thought creeped across his mind. Slowly, he walked back to the bedside shelf and studied the little silver remote. The buttons glowed a soft blue in the dim chamber. For five thousand dollars, he had purchased the key to the universe: the Uni-Remote. It had been created in 2101, two years before it fell into his hands. The company's slogan was "the remote control of the future". It was time to explore some of the gadget's other functions besides the mute button. Scott turned on the interactive instruction manual and ran his finger down the screen until he found what he had been searching for. The salesman had mentioned this feature.

"'Press 'pause' to stop time. Please remember to press 'play' after your period of relaxation.'" he read. He took the lightweight remote in his hand. It had been molded to fit perfectly in the curve of his palm. Running his slender finger down the neat buttons, Scott found the two vertical lines that universally meant 'pause' and pressed.

Nothing seemed different. His gaze came to rest on the window, which seconds before had welcomed the wind into his home. The curtains were still, although they appeared to defy gravity; they were frozen mid-ripple. He approached it, not daring to believe his eyes. Dust motes, like glittering fireflies, hung suspended in a ray of sunlight. Scott's breath caught in his throat. He rested his hands on the window sill and gazed at what he had done.

Outside, time stood still. Far below his penthouse apartment, the electric trolleys had stopped in their tracks. Motionless people packed the streets, living statues. The earth itself was as still as death. Birds in flight waited high above him for time to resume, their feathers perfectly outlined by the sun. In the distance, a silver sky taxi sat in midair. The planet was subject to his exclusive power. A smile spread across his face, the California sun glinting off of his ivory teeth.

"I am the king!" Scott crowed to the thousands of deaf ears beneath him. Then he felt foolish and returned to his bedroom, closing the window.

Scott glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror, still clothed in tousled pajamas. A twenty-four year old man was reflected back at him. He stood straight and tall, just over six foot two, sinewy and slender. He had fair, clear skin. Russet eyes bordered by dark lashes were set back in his face above prominent cheekbones. His eyebrows were heavy and dark. He had a Greek nose, thin lips, and a strong jawline. Auburn hair curled around his face, still mussed with sleep. He turned the shower on. It adjusted the temperature automatically and released the scent of sandalwood. Steam billowed around him as he shed his nightclothes and stepped inside.

After a long, relaxing time under the deliciously warm water (thanks to his most recent purchase, Scott reminded himself with a grin), he brushed his hair and shaved in front of the mirror with the soft new towel knotted around his waist.

"Ouch!" he hissed as the razor nicked his throat. Grumbling under his breath, he bent down under the counter for a bandage. As he straightened up, his head connected with the counter with a loud crack. He cried out and stumbled backward, where he crashed into the edge of the shower. Everything[a] went black.

When he blinked his eyes open, Scott had no idea of how much time had passed. He staggered up from the cold tiles, touching the back of his head gently. His fingers came back red. He made a disgusted noise and rinsed his bloodied fingers in the sink, pressing a washcloth to his head with his other hand. The wound stung like fire. Eventually, he managed to stop the bleeding and clean off the dried blood.

Scott made his way to the bedside table and stared at the timekeeper that still read 7:07. It came back to him in a rush after a moment of utter confusion - the two vertical lines, the frozen world. He sighed and turned on the interactive closet. It chose a suitable outfit after considering the weather and his schedule. He pulled on a black suit jacket over a white shirt and black trousers. No one wore colors nowadays; they were garish, messy, and childish. In fact, there wasn't much color around at all in 2103 A.D. He straightened his grey tie and pressed play on the remote, tucking it into his shirt pocket. The world let out a collective sigh, like it had been holding its breath. He stood there for a moment, feeling his nerves settle as the familiar sounds of life enveloped him once more and watching the curtains ripple.

Scott left the apartment and caught a sky taxi to the office. Before long, the silver vehicle reached the newly renovated black glass skyscraper. It swooped down in front of the large revolving door. He swiped his identification/credit card and the door popped open. He didn't bother thanking the conversational automated driver and hopped out onto the neat white sidewalk. When he got to his spacious office on the eighth floor, Scott greeted his secretary briefly and sunk into his custom-made tan leather chair.

As the son of West Coast Tech's CEO, Jacob Morgan, Scott had barely worked a day in his life. He was chosen for a job over three other candidates who were more experienced and had earned the position. Despite the obvious coddling by his father, Scott never knew the difference; it was his life and he was used to it. He had gone to Harvard, failed out, and gone again, thanks to his father. He had graduated a year and a half before and immediately started work at WCT, thanks to his father. His coworkers had a special kind of contempt for him, the darkest type reserved for the envied and the despised. The young man was gifted in more than one way, but his talent was blocked out by the shadow of his father, a brilliant and pompous man. Scott hated his father; when he had given his son the perfect life, he unknowingly ruined it forever.

From eight o'clock to noon, Scott sat in his luxurious chair and worked on whatever paper or project his father's assistant handed him. His lunch was delivered to him at twelve-thirty sharp. After lunch, Scott stared out his floor-to-ceiling window at the city around him. He remembered how quiet it had been after he pressed the button. He watched the bustling, living metropolis and remembered. With that kind of power, he could finally escape his father's shadow and be Scott Morgan, ruler of time, not the CEO's son. He imagined that future and patted the remote in his pocket fondly, smiling to himself.

Five hours later, Scott left the office and was home in a blink. He went out to the balcony and stood, holding the remote in his right hand and watching things go on around him. He pressed pause, then pressed play. The rest of humanity continued their lives, unaware of the time that had not passed. The instantaneous transformation from animation to stillness was both eerie and enticing. Scott grinned, proud of himself, and held the remote high. He pressed pause. Suddenly, the remote slipped from his fingers.

"No!" Scott shouted, his eyes wild with fear and desperation. He grabbed for the little device over the railing, but it was falling fast. The young man leaned farther, reaching, his fleeting future spiraling to oblivion. Scott lost his balance and slipped over the railing in a flurry of limbs. His screams were lost on the unhearing ears of the world.

Beside the silver remote lay Scott, as still as time. Statue-people surrounded him, oblivious to the broken dreamer sleeping dreamless in the street.