The Novelist

Manipulation

A scarcely lit room came in sight. Doors and windows were locked shut and curtains pulled. A dim table lamp sat bluntly on a vandalized wooden work space, gazing at the tired dark figure that sat before her with affection. A wall clock made its presence registered with its soft ticks.

The figure wasn't quite visible but the tension of the room could be easily traced back to the figure itself. Stressful scratches and rushed scribbling was clearly audible. The smooth sound of pen dancing on paper, twirling, stepping back, spinning and going forth, echoed through the sound cell. To clearly focus on said sight, the blurred image of the figure began to clear out piece by piece. Now, the figure op seemed more humane in nature. Dirty, disheveled brown hair were scattered on tired, stiff shoulders. Hands were moving continuously. Booted feet tapped rapidly against the wood of the chair. Light breathing emerged in every interval from the worn out male structure. The entity drifted swiftly towards said male, only to loom over his shoulder and read through the rushed scarmbled writing.

She was different. She knew and so did others that she was not a part of the world we have created.
She belonged to a forlorn existence and she had accepted so herself. Then what attached her to reality? Oh reality for her had long since merged with the visions.

Yes the visions.

Visions of a man she didn't know.

The entity backed away as it slowly gained consciousness. The man froze and so did everything else in the room. The soft sounds of the wall clock rang unbearably loud. Horrid angry groans were emitted from the cold walls and the room shook vigorously before being swallowed into dark, black swirls.

I did not enjoy reliving visions but I know what I saw was not a dream. I know the man before me was guilty of some malignant wrong from the way his eyes widened, the way his breath hitched and the way his forehead dressed in beads of cold sweat while I took him through that particular vision and more to accompany. His hands placed over mine for connection were covered with cold sweats that seeped through my skin and his flesh bumped all over with erected body hair.  I removed my hands, looking up at the brunette I descicively suspect.

"What are you?" He asked, his voice quivering, vocalising my thoughts ever since I saw him.

What am I?

"I don't know. And that's exactly why I'm here to question you because I'm sure you understand that I know you know something about me." I replied. Macks' eyes met mine. The unsettlement and uncertainties in his composure spoke for itself, how ever what was absolutely required was the words that followed.

"It's pointless if I deny at this point. I know all about you Anne. And the second I saw you by my seat, I knew there was more to these visions than just story writing."

Life is said to be unpredictable. Indefinable and unconfinable. Man searches for his purpose in life through and through and is said to be enlightened in his dying moments. One can lead their life however they want but there exist strings, invisible to human eye which confines every man to work in a certain pattern and no matter how much you try to defy these strings, they just grasp you tighter, drawing blood if necessary, to make you dance the way you must.

So is there a higher purpose for each one of us?

Sitting here, surrounded with assuring reality, I felt scared and comforted at the same time.

Scared for what he knew. Comforted that he knew something.

"I don't know how much of this makes sense Anne. But this is exactly what has been happening." Macks broke the silence while I eyed him with caution. He took my silent glance as an encouragement to continue without being scared of judgement.
"It started some three years back...I...had these dreams. Atleast, initially that's what I thought but things seemed a little out of place when I'd go into a trance even when I was wide awake." He breathed out. Taking one short glance at me, he huffed and continued.
"Thoughts are a great turning factor when you are professionally dependent on your imagination. Things didn't look quite compatible. The visions were to frequent and unlike before, vivid and based on just one person...you." I let out a breath, that I didn't know I was holding.
"It bothered me to know these dreams or visions or whatever it was, that too regarding someone I've never seen in my life kept intruding...it drove me crazy, it was just so frustrating and I thought maybe I was delusional...I spoke to therapists but nothing hit right... nobody seemed to get how REAL this was you know?" He lost himself while expressing, submitting to whatever extraordinarity we were victims of.
"I know." I whispered.

"I, I told myself it was my imagination and responded to it just the way I would have had to a story plot...I wrote it down...I wrote you down." He breathed out yet again.

"I see." I responded.

"It was going well. Every time I'd get these visions, I'd write it down and it felt like a load off my shoulders. Everything was stable. That was, before Saturday, 24th."
My breath hitched at the mention of last weekend.
It had all abruptly stopped last weekend. The visions.

"24th, the vision was different. It... wasn't you. It was someone else...a woman. She had asked me to board a flight to England. She told me that would satisfy my curiosity about you and the visions. I didn't consider it before I realized soon, later, than it had also been the last vision." He spoke.

Him too?

"I never saw you anymore and that caused this sense of anxiety and panic to rise. I don't know why, it was a whim. I...I did what she asked me to do..." He answered. The dread, the chaotic confusion was so densely spread throughout the suite that it could be sliced through.

"When I saw you in that plane I...I didn't know how to respond. I was glad I guess because even though the visions had mysteriously started and stopped, I felt the connection, I knew you were real. And I was afraid that the sudden stop of visions indicated something terrible." He finished.

"I don't know if this information is of any assistance, but my visions had stopped too. The last one being about you boarding that flight. I just knew I had to come here too when it stopped." I spoke softly, almost like a whisper to myself that I knew he heard loud and clear.

"How long have you envisioned me?" He asked. It struck me then. How long have I envisioned him?

"I...I don't quite remember...but it's been so long...I don't remember a time when I didn't have visions."

"I see." He spoke. I looked up at him. He had a smile with a speck of delicacy. I believe I had returned similar emotions through my smile too.

Confusion? Yes. Dread? Of course.
None of this made sense.

But we weren't alone anymore.

As soon as my face broke into a smile everything seemed to blank out.

My ears rang and my head felt heavy.

"Anne?"

Visions.

I wasn't vulnerable. But it took over me anyway.

I sat on that same chair. The same blazing white room. The same godly woman stood before me, a playful smile spread on her lips. Her hands gracefully by her side, her lilac dress decoring the room and her chestnut brown her fluttering in unreal brilliance. I was dazed.

"Well done my dear. Now things are looking up in this story." I heard her melodical voice speak gleefully.