The Endless Loop - NSW short

[Tiana Calthye]

It's always the same.

 

PG: References alcoholism.

 

A/N: Just a little vignette for one of my characters, written in 15 minutes for a pre-NaNoWriMo word war prompt. No editing and it won't be edited and probably won't be fleshed out. Unless I write about Raiyn this November, who this vignette is about. I have posted bits of Peripheral here, and she is the main character from that story, as well as Spire, but I like to think this bit stands alone since it falls prior to these stories... which is why like unlike some of my writing it's getting a post.

 

-

 

Every night, she has the same dream. She still wakes up twitching in the middle of the night for reasons she can't quite recall. Just shapes, just fog, and the idea that something was there... something frightening.

 

But she can never remember what the dream is. She can never remember more than the shadows that have taken over in her mind, and she can never remember anything past those shadows. Horrible things, they are... but they're so vague, so faint, so blurry. Every night it's the same dream and every morning it's the same morning: a taste like sand in her mouth and the gritty, dry feel on her tongue. All of her body feels like it's been invaded, and all of her soul feels empty, hollow, and abandoned.

 

The desert of her bed doesn't have an oasis.

 

Every morning it's the same morning. She stills her twitching limbs, and shudders away the last shiver of a memory buried too far beneath. She pulls herself out from beneath the covers and brings herself to bearing, standing up in the cold room, listening to the kick of the radiator that hasn't warmed the air up to the same temperature as the warm beneath her covers.

 

She can't remember the day before, only that they all start like this.

 

She goes over to the thermostat and tries to set the temperature to something a little warmer. It's always room temperature and it never feels good enough for her. It's too cold in the mornings; maybe it's the chilly air outside seeping through the vents, maybe there's a crack in the window, maybe, maybe, maybe. But she can never quite remember to check and she can never quite remember how to go about her morning. She always stands there, staring at the frosty windowpane, trying to remember if it was frosty in the last silver snip of memory and shadow.

 

Was it?

 

Eventually she brings herself to go over to her dresser, draw clothing over her body, and tries to free herself from the cold atmosphere.

 

Eventually, she combs her hair.

 

She thinks about having a shower, but the water is always too cold, and the temperature is never quite right, just like the temperature of the air in her room. Eventually, she gives up on the thought and walks out of the room, brushing aside the pale yellow curtain that separates her room from the kitchen, the men from the boys. The kitchen has always been the same, as far as she can remember--peeling paint on the walls (one day she'll remember to repaint them, or have enough money to buy a bucket of paint, anyway). The toaster, scratches revealing chrome underneath the black finish. The oven, pilot light flickering. At least that's lit, though she can't remember who lit it. Was it her? Was it someone else? Were there little men who came in and out of the kitchen while she wasn't looking. Scampering feet, scampering gnomes?

 

She goes to the cupboard to get a coffee mug. It should have been a set of four: four plates, four bowls, four cups. But one of the cups is broken. She thinks she can remember it smashing into the sink.

 

But Raiyn isn't sure. Maybe that was in the dream.

 

Every morning she has the same breakfast. She can only afford to buy the cheapest breakfast cereal. It's always the same wheat squares. She doesn't mind them. It's not as bad as the lunch, always the same lunch--sandwiches or ramen, depending on her budget. If she can afford a block of cheese and she can afford some butter, she'll take the sandwiches. Sometimes she can even afford a head of lettuce, some sandwich meat presliced into little rounds that don't fit the not-quite-square slices of bread. She can't help but think that sandwiches weren't really considered when someone invented sliced bread and then went on to make sliced meat and sliced cheese--the cheese in squares, the meat in circles, and the sandwich itself some sort of squished square with a rounded top and caved-in dents on the sides.

 

It's not very geometric.

 

It's not very shapely.

 

Every morning, she doesn't bother to wash out her coffee cup and comes in after work and stares at the dishes. But she never really wants to take the time out of her morning. She never really cares.

 

Every night, she realizes she doesn't care anymore and drinks the rest of the beer in the fridge. She would have more money for sandwiches if she didn't have to drink at least four of them a night--shame packages always came in six or twelve, she would be able to control herself if there were only two in the fridge, but she always drinks them all. Two, four, twelve... whatever.

 

The headache medication is expensive too. But she deals with the hangovers. Maybe that's some of the reason why she has the same odd dreams, the same hallucinations, the same nightmares. Maybe that's the reason every morning is the same morning; dazed, confused, and alone.

 

It doesn't seem like all that long ago she was just Raiyn and not like this, not trapped in this endless loop of memoryless days and memory-filled nights forgotten with the sun.

[Amidala Skywalker]

Very haunting and ethereal...but I've come to expect that with your writing. I know I've read something with Raiyn in it...can't remember what just now. Must have been Peripheral, although that doesn't ring a bell.

 

Anyway, this reminded me a lot of the movie Groundhog Day. The whole idea of living the same day over and over and over and over again...it's always interesting to see how the characters react. Looks like Raiyn just went completely numb. She certainly is in a prison...and I don't know if it's because of what I've read before fuzzily dreaming in the back of my mind, but I feel like this is a real prison--that she's been deliberately trapped and held hostage in...this. Perhaps the dream she keeps having is reality trying to break through whatever "they"'ve done to her.

 

Or maybe I'm just feeling like a conspiracy theorist right now.

 

Anyway, I'm glad you posted this! I enjoyed it quite a lot.

[jedi_master_gimpy]

Hmm... I think I vaguely remember this character as well. Must be from Peripheral. Wasn't there something about dreams there? Kind of similar to the basic idea behind Between Places with dreams, but very different in terms of characters and scenarios?

 

Anywho, it was definitely an interesting vig. I always enjoy reading your stuff, hinthintyoushouldpostmoreherehinthint.

 

You captured the rote, numb terror of Raiyn's current existence quite well. And yes, those words make perfect sense together here, even if normally they are contradictions! Whether there is something actively going on in her dreams from an outside source or just her own dreams, it speaks volumes that despite waking up with no memories the dreams seem to be more real than her waking life... if only she could remember them. It would make her ripe for disappearing into that dream world if she realized how to.

 

The descriptions, word choice, repetition, and even the bare mention of her work (something most people focus on, and yet it's hardly mentioned and thus seems to barely register on Raiyn's own radar - even the mornings and evenings stand out more, almost because of their bland despair. I'd be interested to know more about the times before ("she was just Raiyn and not like this") and after (Peripheral? Spire? others?). You know what you should do? Just post more!

 

I think Ami's word sums the whole vig up best: haunting.

[Tiana Calthye]

Since you guys are picking up on the familiar character, this was the concept of Peripheral: Raiyn is trapped in a dream prison by Gabriel and the vast majority of the story is her trying to get out of the dream. I don't think I got that far on posting it though. It's quite a lot more like Peripheral and a lot less like Between Places (unless you managed to pick up on an obscure plot point in which case it could theoretically be a lot like Between Places, I just didn't get to that yet. ).

 

I'd be interested to know more about the times before ("she was just Raiyn and not like this") and after (Peripheral? Spire? others?). You know what you should do? Just post more!

I would, but unfortunately longform things with Raiyn tend to take a turn in the R-rated direction, and then no one wants to read them because there's a few F-bombs and continued references to her alcoholism and sexuality.

 

On the realistic side, if I'm ever published it'll be with Raiyn (unless it's the story I started in October; maybe I didn't post that here either).

 

I know I've read something with Raiyn in it...can't remember what just now. Must have been Peripheral, although that doesn't ring a bell.

While Peripheral was my most recent story about Raiyn, I wouldn't be surprised if she made it onto Jedi.net a few times.

 

I really liked your post. It was very inspiring.

 

Thanks for your reviews, ladies. I don't post a lot here because it doesn't stand alone and there'd be far too much unfinished stuff for your likings. Plus it's all NSW. I might post my Nano. It's been pretty clean so far, though lacking in the action department.