Dream

a state of mind characterized by abstraction and release from reality

1:49 a.m, February 25th. Year unknown.

Twenty nine year old Gilbert Beilschmidt, tired from work, slips in to bed almost immediately after he comes home.

He missed his regular bus from the gas station where he works cash, and public transit is more sporadic when it is late at night. It has been nearly two hours since his shift had finished; a tiring extension into what was already a bleary day. His brother, twenty six year old Ludwig Beilschmidt, is still working his shift as a barman at the local pub.

As he travels the ten steps required to get from the door to the mattresses on the ground, he shucks off his dirty shoes and jacket and pulls his grease-stained worker's t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. In a happier time, Ludwig would have been there to chastise him on leaving his clothes lying around; in a happier time, they'd have a real closet to put those clothes in and not just a hamper in the corner of their one-room apartment.

He picks up a relatively clean white t-shirt lying on the ground and slips it on; it is one of Ludwig's shirts from high school, he assumes, by the logo of a wild animal on the front and an acronym on the back. He doesn't bother rinsing his mouth or washing his hands, and makes a beeline for the mattress that he's claimed for himself.

As he slips into bed and pulls the large, old comforter over his body, he thanks the powers that may be that the month has been warm and relatively snow-free. His eyes close as soon as he hits the pillow, and within the next fifteen minutes, he falls into a deep sleep.

The forest is large; lush. Nothing like what he has seen in his entire lifetime of living in the run-down side of the city. It's familiar though, and he is walking through it. The air is crisp and cool, and enough sunlight is shining through the trees to give him a clear view of his path. He's filled with tranquility, peace, and for some reason, pride.

As if he owns this place.

But he doesn't, as he is reminded by the uniform he is wearing that belongs to the gas station he works at.

And it angers him. He needs to quell that anger; he can't let it take over his mind again.

So he starts to discard each piece of clothing as he walks, because he knows he's in a dream and he's enjoying it; he doesn't want real life rearing its ugly head.

Arthur Kirkland, owner of the local pub, has started to fidget. The bar is unusually empty, and Ludwig is wiping down counters.

"Lad," He calls out to Ludwig. "Do you know what the date is?"

"I believe it is the 25th of February, sir." Ludwig replies, baritone crisp and clear as always, even when he is thoroughly overworked.

Arthur frowns, and goes back to manually counting the change in the cash register. It's not completely necessary, but it gives him something to do as he runs over a list in his head of all the mundane chores he needs to do in the morning. Early in the morning, he corrects himself mentally, because he vaguely remembers having some appointment with some person at some place close to lunch time.

"Beilschmidt." He says. "Ludwig. I think we can afford to close early tonight."

"As you wish, sir." Ludwig does not question why and merely hopes he will be getting paid the hours taken away from his shift.

Fifteen minutes later, the dingy building is locked up, and the two men are bidding each other farewell. Ludwig tightens his black trench coat around him, staving off chills till his bus arrives ten minutes late.

He gets on, and there is no one there except for the elderly man driving the bus. No one else comes on in the twenty minute drive back to his apartment, and Ludwig is thankful that he has gotten home a little early.

He's rather liking this place. It's unusually quiet, with no birds chirping or animals skittering. All he can here is the soft thud of his feet echoing through the woods, as he walks through.

But the woods are getting sparse, and he can see a green clearing up ahead. For no particular reason, he breaks out into a jog because that clearing seems just so appealing. He runs and runs, and the clearing still seems the same distance away.

He knows he'll make it.

Ludwig opens the door quietly because he knows Gilbert is probably home by now. Earlier on, he wouldn't have bothered because Gilbert would have been out at a club or a bar with friends and wouldn't announce his presence till either early morning or the following afternoon.

Now Gilbert is (lucky enough to be) the first one home, and Ludwig is the one that has to sneak into the house.

He walks in to the nearly bare apartment, sliding his coat off and resting it on a hook near the doorway. Gilbert, like usual, has left his clothes strewn all over the floor but Ludwig is too tired, like usual, to pick up after him. Ludwig sees his brother fast asleep, and is glad to see that for a change, his brother looks like he's at peace. It's different from the usual worried expression that haunts the man, even in his sleep.

He finds his pyjamas at the bottom of the hamper and pulls them on quickly. He considers making a warm glass of milk before he sleeps, but remembers that they are nearly out and they've already spent their grocery money for the week.

When Ludwig lies down on top of his mattress opposite Gilbert, sleep comes as easily to him as it does to his brother. Except his sleep is slightly different from the one his brother has fallen in to.

It comes too quickly. Gilbert feels the ground slip out from underneath him as he over shoots the clearing which has morphed into a cliff.

Gilbert is falling.

He enjoys the moment, the sensation, for a few seconds, because he feels air rushing against his skin and whistling along as he falls.

But before he hits the ground, he closes his eyes and pinches himself. He's never liked dying in dreams, and always wakes himself up before the opportunity arises.

The alarm goes off; it's seven in the morning. Ludwig drags himself out of bed to make strong coffee for himself. He knows today is Gilbert's day off, and he knows that today is his long shift at the local grocery store. Having worked there since fifteen, Ludwig has earned some seniority and gets enough money for both him and Gilbert to take a day off from work each week.

His brother seems to have been extremely exhausted; he is sleeping soundly, not even flinching the slightest. Ludwig leaves the house after a shower and an energy drink, closing the door gently as to not wake his brother up.

Gilbert opens his eyes, expecting to wake up in real life or turn up in another dream. He's still falling, and even as he pinches, slaps, and even punches himself, he's not waking up.

When he comes home twelve hours later, Ludwig will open the door with less care because he will expect his brother to be watching basic cable on their second-hand television or loafing about. Instead, he will see Gilbert still in bed, still sleeping. Nothing in the house will have been moved except for Gilbert's body, which will be lying on its side, leaving Ludwig suspicious.

He will put his hand on his brother's forehead, he will feel the pulse, he will check his skin; nothing will be wrong with Gilbert.

It will appear as if he's still sleeping.

He's still falling.

AN: Just something I wrote as a stress reliever some time ago that I finally got to editing. Title's derived from the fat that I don't have a story that begins with a V ;) edit: oh wait i do. ooops :P May have 2 or 3 more accompanying chapters so it makes a tiny bit more sense haha. Reviews are really appreciated :)