The Little Book That Dreams Wrote.

It’s 6:04 Monday Morning. Burts bloodshot eyes open to his bland room; white walls fading in colour, an old work desk and a cheap table-top fan buzzing away on his bedside table. It blows his window blinds back and forth with the steady breeze entering from the bustling uncaring city outside, water droplets create a metronome as they slowly fill a bucket in the centre of his bedroom from the ceiling leakage.

Burt sits up wiping the sweat off his brow, getting up from his bed and making his way to his wardrobe, putting on an un-ironed white shirt.

On his desk is scattered paperwork, work reports and a due notice of $20,000. The number has been a needle in his mind for a while. Digging ever deeper.

It’s 6:28 Monday Morning. A half empty coffee cup sits by his kitchen sink, presumably from yesterday morning. He takes a sip as he walks out the door, spitting it strait back out into the sink. He picks up his brown leather briefcase.

He closes the door to his apartment, struggling to lock it as the keyhole is worn out.

It’s 6:48 Monday Morning. A train pulls up in the underground metro with a screech, the doors open to blank faced citizens from all walks of life, in the centre is Burt. Everyone exits, unaware of each others existence, not a nod nor smile is exchanged.

It’s 7:22 Monday Morning. Burts workplace. The automatic glass doors slide open revealing a large business lobby, many different tones of voices scatter the melancholic air. In the middle is a concierge desk. Sitting behind it is Annie, an attractive concierge attendant who types away on her desktop. Burt walks by, he stops and looks back at her then paces back.

“Hey Annie!” He says. Her eyes shift upwards for a moment then she continues to type.

“Beautiful day, today.” He continues, trying to break the awkwardness.

She stops typing again and looks up from her computer to the grey overcast day outside, then to Burt, then back to typing. Burt scurries off.

It’s 7:31, Monday Morning. A large office floor organised in rows of work desks and makeshift offices of the same colour, telephones ring, the in sync sound of computer typing is unrelenting. Burt sits at his desk doodling on a notepad with a phone to his ear.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” He says to the customer on the line.

He looks up for a moment from his little cubical, he sees a man smiling at him on the other side of the office floor, he waves, making Burt feel a bit weirded out. His tired eyes struggle to focus on this Stranger and as he does so time seems to waver. It somehow passes both quickly and slowly. The sounds of the phones ringing and tapping of the keyboards grow louder. He is broken out of his little daydream.

“Uhh… Hello?” The customer says on the line.

“Oh! Yes, sorry, go on…” Burt says as he refocuses. Looking back, the man had seemed to have disappeared.

It’s 7:44, Monday Evening. Burt leaves the Metro Station closest to his apartment, walking the empty streets of cheap city housing. Along one of the dark alleys, a shortcut he usually takes, he sees a light bulb hanging by a storefront. Like a candle in a dark room. Beckoning.

Approaching it, it reveals to be a book store, nothing that Burt has ever seen on his many escapades through the street over the past few years. He hesitates for a few moments, checking his watch then looking in the direction of home... It felt further away than usual. He approaches the entrance and is overcome with an unfamiliar sense of euphoria. Every ailment washed away.

It’s 8:00, Monday Evening. The bookstore looks old, filled with all types of stacked and shelved literature that covers its walls and floor. At the back is an empty cashiers counter. Burt hovers over finding a note on the counter written:

“Be back in a moment, hold on to ya’ marbles!”

He examines some books around him sitting in an old wooden shelf, reading closer it reveals A little Black Book titled ‘The Book That Dreams Wrote’. He moves in, trying to get a clear look when a voice from behind asks:

“How can I help you?” In a warm manner.

Startled, he knocks over a jar of Marbles on a coffee table next to him, smashing all over the floor.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you!” He laughs. It reveals to be the man from the office earlier.

“Hey! Do I know you?” Burt blabbers out but is cut short.

“Shhh!” The Stranger puts his index finger to his lips, they both go silent.

“That’s better, how can I help you?” He continues. Burt doesn’t know what to say. “Ah, say no more! I think I have exactly what you need. You’ll find that on the shelf behind you.” He points at the shelf behind Burt.

Burt, turns around. This time, only the Little Black Book is there with a Red Rose next to it in a vase. He picks up the book turning back around to the counter to notice that the mysterious stranger is no longer there.

On the counter is a ledger with a list of names, with a small note with an arrow written:

“Sign Here, Burt! —>”

Burt signs the ledger, the door is then brushed open by a strong gust of wind, the lights flicker in the store. A black cat sits on chair by the counter, giving him an uneasy glare, it would seem out of place but Burt did not take notice. He grabs the Small Black Book. The very touch fills him with yet more pleasure. He leaves and as he does so, the rose in the vase begins to wither.

Later, Burt sits at his desk, he taps his pen on the desk hitting in-between the drips of the leaking ceiling. He stares at the Little Black Book in front of him. He opens it to the first page, revealing a glossary of unfamiliar names, but at page 119 is his own—he flips through to the page. It is blank with the words written in the top left hand corner:

“[Insert Dream Here]”

He looks around the room, noticing the bill. He begins to write of a life. Of a dwelling, a spouse, an occupation better in every sense. Beyond his experience.

Having fallen asleep on his desk, Burt awakens with his cheek resting firmly on the little black book. The dripping of the leaking ceiling remaining at its usual pace, the bucket overflown. He checks his watch and sees it still reads 8:00pm, the exact position of when he entered the bookstore. The bookstore... Seemed like a dream. It could not have been, as the black book was in front of him. Just as he left it.

In the kitchen he grabs his coffee, half full, he takes a sip. He retrieves his briefcase from the bedroom and starts out.

Stepping outside of his bedroom into his living room, outside of his living room and into his kitchen, outside his kitchen and into the hallway, a luxurious apartment suite takes shape behind him.

On The Way To Work, marching steadily away from home, the brutalist apartment building fades into a modern condo.

In the subway he is greeted by the warm smiles and admiration of all on board.

“Hey Burt!” A man proclaims from the back of the carriage.

Burt politely nods. He's thrilled, but a veil of confusion rests uneasily over his exhilaration. He steps off the train car onto the platform and starts away from the station. The people on board become shrouded in an overwhelming grey as the colour is siphoned away. They are lifeless, pale, frozen in time. As are their smiles, now resembling a painful grimace.

He Arrives At Work, immediately greeted by Annie at concierge.

“Hey Burt! Beautiful day today, isn’t it!” She gleefully says.

Burt looks behind noticing a city full of colour and life and a sky without cloud.

“I guess so” He replies.

“Are you still picking me up at 8:00 tonight?” She asks.

“Sure?” He hesitantly replies and continues to the elevator. He found himself bothered. Bothered that he was bothered by the unusual behaviour of the day. The book worked. It worked and you should appreciate it as the gift it is, he told himself. Something was off, however, and the feeling wouldn't let him be.

In the elevator he put his hands to his eyes and rubbed them, trying to centre himself. As he opened his eyes, the elevator doors were almost closed and he caught a glimpse of what was on the other side. A trick of the eye, must be...

He exits the elevator and shuffles past the workers trying to enter, among them, the stranger from the bookstore.

“Oh, sorry there Burt!” A man in the crowd says apologetically as they squeeze by each other. Burt turns around and locks eyes with the bookstore man who now stands among the others in the elevator. The man is smiling, but his eyes carry an indisputable fury that was not present in the bookstore.

Burt sits at his desk and unpacks his briefcase. He checks his computer, in his emails is a notification from his bank stating that $20,000 has been deposited into his account. He looks in his half opened briefcase and sees the spine of The little Book Dreams Wrote. The people love him, Annie wants him and it's a beautiful day. Yet there is great dread. Emanating from the book. Not like yesterday. Not like 8:00pm in the bookstore yesterday.

At The Days End, the Lobby is lifeless, colourless. Annie, pale and deathly, still frozen in time from where she was before. The Elevator doors open and they all spring to live again in a sudden jolt, but not before Burt had a chance to see it as it was. Only a split second, but he saw it.

“Should I wait here for you?” Annie asks as Burt rushes by taking no notice of her. The fear overtaking him... No trick of the eye this time. You saw it. You know you did.

He exits the Building, turning back it is now a modern business trading tower, a banner with him on it as CEO rolls down its side and a bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Returning To The Alley, he finds none but an untouched space where the bookstore should be. Nothing... Darkness.

Arriving home, he is lost, the once shabby apartment building is now a modern condo, same number, same street, but different. In its lobby, he's greeted by another concierge who addresses him professionally.

He Finds His Apartment, not believing what he sees, clean, spacious and luxurious beyond his wildest dreams… He hears the crying of a baby, coming down the loft stairs is Annie cradling an infant.

“Oh, Hi Honey! You’re home early! I’ll be down in a minute, just have to put him back to sleep.” She says rushing back up the stairs.

The room feels to be pulsating, vibrating. He feels as though his whole body is suffocating. he rushes back out of the apartment. Upstairs, Annie and the baby are frozen on the bed, amidst the lifeless grey. He gaze held permanently at the door, waiting for Burt.

In the hallway a janitor mobs the marble floors, he turns revealing to be The Stranger from the bookstore, the Red Rose hanging from his shirt pocket, dead. He smiles warmly at Burt as he begins to run away, the halls begin to return to their natural decomposing state, The Stranger continues to mop, whistling a strange melody.

Burt Runs Down The Street, running as fast as he can, now fully attentive to the impossible changes taking place all around him, transmuting into what appears to be luxury and colour. But the luxury is too sweet its sickening and the colour too bright it's painful. Behind him, in the corner of his vision, the grey. Lifeless and deathly.

He Runs To The City Bridge, he pulls the Little Black Book from his pants pocket, opening it to the glossary on the front page. He flips to page 119. The blank pages now full. He does not read, but he sees his name and Annie's name woven in the paragraphs. He throws the book and buries his face in his hands, the ticking of his watch starts again, pulsing through his head. He runs.

8:01pm, Monday Night. Across the street, a young man sees a man toss something quickly and frantically, as if it were on fire. The man runs into the night. Another crazy on the street he tells himself with assurance.

The young man crosses the street towards the object in questions. He did not notice himself, but his eyes never looked anywhere else. His curiosity was unquenchable. It's a book. He stood over it for a moment and picked it up. It fit neatly in his hands like a diary he kept all his life. He opens it to the first page, revealing a glossary of unfamiliar names, but at page 124 is his own—he flips through to the page. It is blank with the words written in the top left hand corner:

“[Insert Dream Here]”

"Lovely looking book you have there, young man.” A voice says from behind him. David turns. The stranger is smiling, leaning against the bridge rail playing the the stem of a beutiful red rose. His eyes warm and welcoming.