Not anything connected to the novel I'm working on, but the backstory to this is rather amusing.
The other day I was supposed to write a new chapter. I have discarted several chapters and written new ones that fit the story better. Third draft is harsh business. Anyway, I sat on my bed with my laptop and was supposed to write about Fur doing something he's always doing now adays: being nervous and trying to not show it. Somewhere in the middle I fell asleep and had the weirdest dream. The second I woke up I just ha to wirte it down in some way, nd here it is:
”If you’d been there you’d believe me”, Emma ended her monologue with and panted. No surprise there, she was just as exhausting to listen to as it must be talking like that. Of course, that was just an assumption; what Robert was sure of though was that if he didn’t say something soon, Emma would keep on talking for hours upon hours. This beautiful day would come to an end and they wouldn’t even have opened their pic-nic basket yet.
“I believe you”, he blurted out, a bit too fast and a bit too high pitched. “A thing like that can’t be made up.”
Emma nodded her head. “Right? And to think I was planning to go to Paris this spring in an ordinary plane – I mean, why pay for cramped seats and expensive miniature soft drinks when it’s so much easier to just…”
“Yeah, but how do you do it?” Robert interrupted, much calmer now when Emma’s words didn’t tumble over him like an avalanche anymore. A quick glance at the arm watch and a sigh. Noon. No wonder he was hungry.
“I have no idea”, Emma replied, “I doubt it’s as easy as pinching your nose and blowing.”
“That would be something though”, Robert laughed and leaned backwards, resting on one hand in the low cut grass. “I would probably freeze to death.” Was he out of his mind? Did he really think about what would happen to his body at those altitudes as if what she’d just said would be a possibility? Robert shaked his head. This was madness.
“Yeah, you maybe.” Emma punched Robert’s shoulder, “Remind me to put on a hat and a jacket.”
“You’re planning to try this out.” Robert looked at Emma and didn’t really know if h should laugh or cry. How could she be so naïve?
“Yes, of course! I want to figure this out.” Emma leaned backwards too and squinted towards the sun. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Sure”, Robert answered, still trying to figure out if she was a complete idiot or just crazy. A bit of a nutter, yes; but that was hardly any news. “It’s a lovely day for a pic-nic, and I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
Later that evening, Robert was standing in front of his bathroom mirror brushing his teeth. An old record with Billie Holiday were playing in the background, soon on that part of Gloomy Sunday when he’d have to lift the needle from the scratches in the track to be able to hear the end of the song. It had been a nice day at the park, but he hadn’t been able to drop that thought. Emma had to be bonkers. Robert was actually a bit disappointed. Why would she, a clever girl – well moderately anyway - think a person could just fly off like that? During lunch hour in the middle of a street? There must be a good scientific explanation. Not to why she believed it to be true; Robert was already aware of the fact that she was a dreamer; there had to be a trick behind it.
Robert went to bed, turned his lights out. Tried to sleep. Tossed and turned with his eyes wide open in the dark room. Outside, a car passed by. The engine hummed away until it disappeared into the distance. He had to break up with her. She was too irrational. If he was this disturbed by her daydreams now, how would it be in a few years? He’d be angry to the point that he’d explode by their second anniversary. He’d be too annoyed to kiss her. In fact, he’d been too annoyed already to invite her to stay the night. That engagement ring had to be returned to the store, first thing in the morning. And as Robert had come to that conclusion, he felt relaxed and started to doze off. Really comfortable; so relaxed even that he felt like he was floating above the bed.
And then he bumped his head.
Robert opened his eyes.
The ceiling was a bit closer than previously expected.
“What the…?” Robert turned his head, looked towards the window. It was placed much lower than he remembered. He must be dreaming. Or was Emma’s nonsense contagious? Robert didn’t dare to move. What if he fell down?
“This must be a dream”, he murmured, with a surprisingly high-pitched voice. What was this? He sounded like a chipmunk! Of course. Those annoying chipmunks. He had to be asleep. Robert flapped with his arms, at first carefully, to see if something happened. When he did, his legs sank and the blankets fell off him. He felt stretched, as if he was hanging from his head. This was not a comfortable dream. It was a bit too realistic. No, wait. How could he call this realistic? His head bumped the ceiling once more. Robert tried to move towards the bedroom door. Walking in midair didn’t work, neither did swimming. He had to walk on his hands over the ceiling towards the door. Push away to not bump his head.
By the door was the light switch. He had to climb – downwards, cling on to the moldings. It was like the laws of gravity had flipped and turned the world upside down. It was a struggle to reach the doorknob, and when he did he had to cling on to it as if his life mattered on it. Panting like a dog a warm day. Robert reached for the light switch.
On the other side of the room, by the closet, there was a mirror. Robert didn’t really mean to look in it. Just by pure coincidence he realized that his head was huge. Smaller at the base and wider on top.
“What is this?” he murmured, still with a chipmunk’s voice. His head looked…