Our Fallen Reveries

P R E F A C E

August 20, 1990

Monday 10:15 A.M.

GREGORY LEWIS glanced down at his clammy hands. His heart raged against his ribcage, nothing normal about it at all. His lids folded over his somber green eyes as he thought of what to say to the council, what words he should enunciate and skip over. It was important.

The council was the very founders of the small town Redwyn Crest. They ran everything as one. They listened to the craziest ideas to help make Redwyn Crest a better place, and even promote amazing job opportunities if the ideas were good enough. Gregory could only pray that they would be as open to his ideas, his thoughts, as they were with others.

He thought back to the letter he received from the lead chairman, Vincent Tannly.

Mr. Gregory Lewis, I’ve seen your artwork and am quite interested in how you have managed to tie them with how we sleep. Though our time is very limited, Redwyn members would love to hear more of your magnificent theories on dreams. You say you have a plan. Show us. Amaze us. Do not let us down.

Sincerely,

Vincent Tannly

He smiled to himself. If they didn’t want anything to do with me, they would have never sent the letter, he thought.

He opened his field-of-green eyes and studied his wobbly reflection in the shiny tan linoleum. His shaggy hair hung slightly over his shoulders. He was presentable enough. At least, he thought he was. Gregory wore a nice black suit, although it was a size too big, and dress shoes with holes at the bottom.

No one would know, he promised himself. This could either be the best thing in his life or the worst.

The phone on the receptionist’s desk who sat across the way, rang once before she answered. “Hello? This is Abigail Nunez. How may I assist you?” That treacherous pause was killing him.

It’s them. They must be ready for me.

He bounced the ball of his foot up and down, up and down, a nervous tick of his at its finest. He dragged the back of his wrist across his perspired temple, and finally, Abigail said, “Yes. Right away, sir.” She hung up. Her kitten heels clicked and clacked against the solid floors as she wrapped around the counter and moved swiftly toward the young man.

Gregory glanced upward after his eyes met with her perfect, small ankles. “Mr. Tannly and the others are ready to see you now.” She honed a beautiful Spanish accent. It seemed quite calming to him.

He retrieved his worn and scathed briefcase that had taken reservation on the empty seat next to him. Down the long stretched halls, they went. To the right of them resided a golden elevator. “This is where we part, Mr. Lewis," she said with a slight bob of the head.

His smirk was soft in response. “Thank you.”

Exiting off the tenth floor, Gregory would find himself facing off with solid, antique-designed, double doors. They looked too heavy to pry open but he’d do whatever it took to get in there and show them what he was made of.

He breathed in a ball of air and pulled the left side of the door into him. Surprisingly, it was a lot easier than it appeared. The room was long and wide. One side was made of a wall of windows that introduced him to how high up he actually was. The view consisted of them towering over the forest and small-town shops and homes.

Dark clouds hovered over Redwyn and rain danced against the panes, accompanied by his lonely steps echoing atop the glossy floor.

There they were, the five people who started it all. They sat at a long, white glazed table, all of them with their backs turned to the wall as they shared a side where they'd face townsmen trying to plant themselves into their glorious world.

Gregory didn’t want to get too close but he also didn’t want to stand too far away, so he stopped right in the middle and placed his briefcase on the floor beside him. “Mr. Lewis, welcome.” Vincent's tone reverberated. It was the welcome Gregory waited for far too long.

The inside of his mouth grew dry and cottony. He swallowed, and the rigid air ripped down his throat with heat. His lips slowly parted and like the beginning of an awkward speech, he began. “Thank you, Mr. Tannly. Thanks to all of you.” Each of their expressions played weirdly across the creases of their faces. He could read that some of those expressions of theirs clearly believed the entirety of this thing was a joke. “I--uh, shall I begin?”

Mr. Tannly who sat in the middle of his peers dragged his fingers down his peppered beard. “Yes, Gregory. That would be nice.”

He took a breath in and exhaled his beginning statement. “What if immortality was real?" He paused. "You may be thinking, it is real. Significantly, because you believe in the afterlife. Living after death into eternity makes any one individual more than immortal. But if immortality existed on the plains of the earth--”

Mr. Tannly cleared his throat. “Gregory, my apologies for cutting you short, but I thought this presentation was based on the mere dreams humans have. Clearly, talk of immortality is far from a simple reverie.”

The young man scoffed while keeping a light grin painted in pain on his face. “Actually, sir, I was leading up to it.”

“How about we skip immortality and dive right into your dreams? My members are beginning to grow a bit... antsy.”

Gregory met eyes with each of them and agreed. The last thing he wanted to do was lose their interest. “Yes, Mr. Tannly. I-I-I’m sorry.” Don’t screw it up, he threatened himself. He paced the area and kept his nerves hidden. “Dreams are gathered by our thoughts, our-our feelings, and fantasies. They are gathered from our experiences through days of our past, our present. With that being said, it leaves me with a couple of questions. What if we were able to physically grab something--an object--from our dreams and once we’d awaken, it’s there in our hands? What if all we wanted was to see a lost loved one for one last time and bringing them from REM sleep allowed that to happen?"

“Are you insane?” the woman at the end of the table yelled out. “These questions are a waste of time. We clearly know the answer to each of them. It. Is. Not. Possible. Listen, Gregory, you are setting yourself up for failure.”

“No,” he said in disbelief. “I promise it will work. It has worked. After my calculations--”

“Your calculation? Tannly, you do not expect me to listen to this lunacy any further, do you?” another man asked.

Mr. Tannly sat forward and everyone went silent as it was his words that took over the entirety of the room. “Gregory, I think you are an intelligent young man with ambition, talent, but you’ve highly disappointed me. I took a chance on you because I thought you were serious. You have taken something so broad filled with fantasies and no true evidence.”

“Sir, if you let me proceed, I can assure you it can happen. In real life, we can control our choices. In dreams, we can control so much more! I have pictures.” No one was listening. They ranted amongst themselves as the nervous boy raced for his briefcase. He pried it open and attempted to rush the images to them, but before he could take five steps in their direction, his pictures fell. A fiasco of paintings and drawings and maps along with angered councilmen ignited in the room like a vicious flame.

Gregory fell to the floor and frantically crawled for each picture. His knees were bruising, his body vibrating in anxiousness. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes, burning his sight, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care, not until he could get what needed to be said out, what needed to be seen shown.

“Gregory, you’re embarrassing yourself. Please get off the floor!” Mr. Tannly was standing.

“No. No! I can prove it. I swear I can prove it! I’ve brought static to the real world.”

“Security!” yelled the woman.

Too many voices were dragging him down. Footsteps approached him. Mr. Tannly wanted to calmly assist Gregory before security arrived. “Son, static is already an existence based on positive and negative charges.”

“Please,” Gregory wept. “Please, listen to me!”

But it was too late. Two guards had entered the room and gripped either side of his arms, yanking him upward. He screamed and kicked, threatening to break free.

The raindrops outside enhanced to the size of golf balls, pulsing against the glass. For a moment, the council swore the building was shaking. Thunder roared in the heavens as the windows began to crack. Without a second to truly grasp everything unfolding before their eyes, three blue crooked lines laced with a bright white, intertwined as one, and burst through the shattering glass, dancing on the tips of Gregory’s fingers that were bent in the shape of a claw as anger throbbed through his veins.

The weather-forced impact thrust the guards backward. Four of the councilmen managed to hide under the desk. Mr. Tannly toppled onto his bottom as Gregory’s knees bent into the floor. His smile grew, his face still wet from tears and sweat. The jagged lines of lightning continued to fidget against his fingertips and they all stared at him in awe as he was controlling it. Only, this awe was of fear. Gregory guffawed, the sound wrenching like that of a hyena. He had one last very important question to ask them all. “Do you believe me now?”