HOME | DD

Description
"That was five years ago," Inlé said as he laid back in a red leather long chair in the Psychiatrist’s office. Inlé was there retelling the story to this new doctor, knowing full well that he, like every other psychiatrist Inlé had ever visited would think it only a dream, would write it off as some subconscious need being brought to the fore. Let them think so, was his thought.

The doctor sat in his armchair beside the single arm of Inlé's own seat, himself just above Inlé's head. "Very interesting, Inlé. I’ve never heard of a dream quite like it. Now, you say you first had it five years ago, when you were eleven?"

"Twelve, but just barely. And I have had it every once in a while ever since." That much was true. Inlé remembered it in dream almost regularly. Almost, but never when it was really expected.

Looking back at himself, Inlé was surprised at how much he had changed in just five years. He remembered back to when he regularly wore a pair of blue jeans and a sports shirt, complemented by a shaved head to made showers faster. Even then he'd hated water.

Collecting a mental image of himself now, his hair had become almost as long as his arm. Almost as long as that of the man in his dream. He kept it tied up in a topknot, letting it hang so long as it stayed out of his face. His attire was also different: Black knee-shorts and a black tee-shirt, neither with any markings on them, with an orange hooded sweatshirt over the tee, tattooed with various sigils and designs. Inlé knew all too well that he was not who he once had been.

"Yes, and does any of this dream ever change?" The doctor asked, looking down at Inlé with one eye through those small, round, fish-eye lens that so many in his profession seem to have.

"No," Inlé replied. It never did.

The doctor put the pad onto his lap, as though he were being more attentive. Or wanted Inlé to think so. "And do you ever act on this dream or on any others you may have?"

"Would I be here if I did not?"

"No," he sighed, "I suppose not." He shifted again, "So then, the question is rather how have you acted on these dreams?"

Inlé's arm being across his eyes, he couldn’t see what the doctor was doing, but knew he was preparing to jot down whatever Inlé was about to say. He was audio-recording this, their first session, but still he jotted notes. At least he was interested in actually helping, Inlé considered, even if he thought Inlé was just a crazy kid.

"Well," Inlé began, "I guess it all started around a week after I first had the dream. I disappeared for about three days and had everyone worried. I had no recollection of disappearing, just of going to the bathroom. It all went downhill from there.

"For a few months, I would disappear every time I did something alone. Sometimes I would be gone for minutes, sometimes for days. On a few occasions, I wound up in different places. You know, when weird stuff happens to you like that, people start to shun you.

"Even old friends."

"Well, that’s a very interesting story," the psychiatrist said, after a pause. "But dreams are dreams. How could they cross over into reality?"

"Well," Inlé tried, "what about memories being repeated?"

He paused, "So this actually happened to you, do you believe?"

"No," Inlé answered, "that would be crazy. You know, like not existing when others are not around. I was just pointing out when dreams and reality cross paths."

"But that’s just reminiscing, not dreaming." Though the doctor rarely meant to sound condescending, (as now he only meant to kindly correct,) his voice had an aggravatingly strong tone to it that made him sound as though he were perpetually looking down on whomever he spoke with.

Inlé asked, "Even when asleep?"

"Even then," He reaffirmed.

Inlé sat up, turning to look at his psychiatrist. It was then that Inlé realized how young he was. Appearing to be in his mid-to-late thirties, the doctor's hair wasn’t yet graying, though the stress of this job was already wearing on him. His face was lined with worries one outside the profession couldn’t begin to imagine, many of them not originally his own. His brown hair was balding, or rather had already become bald from brow to the back of the head, leaving a wide band around the sides, but nothing on top. It fit him, making him seem more like Freud than if he’d grown a large beard in place of the delicate horn goatee he sported. The similarity between he and Freud stopped there, though. He did not smell at all of cigar smoke, and did not look as though he’d ever prescribed himself cocaine.

"Well doctor," Inlé began, rising to his feet, "thank you for your time. I know I can be a bore with my stories."

"Oh, no," he said. "That was more interesting than most of my appointments for today promise to be. You can schedule your next one in the lobby with Tanya."

Inlé tried, though he knew the answer, "Will I need another appointment?"

The doctor sounded more surprised at the idea than Inlé expected. "Won't you?"

Inlé shrugged and headed for the door. "Yeah, you are right. If I do not schedule myself, my mother or the police will, correct?"

He answered, "Only until things are sorted out. You need to be patient. You've caused a lot of trouble lately, Inlé. It only makes sense that they would seek to intervene."

Inlé pulled the office door closed behind himself. "Yeah ... I know."

Description
"That was five years ago," Inlé said as he laid back in a red leather long chair in the Psychiatrist’s office. Inlé was there retelling the story to this new doctor, knowing full well that he, like every other psychiatrist Inlé had ever visited would think it only a dream, would write it off as some subconscious need being brought to the fore. Let them think so, was his thought.

The doctor sat in his armchair beside the single arm of Inlé's own seat, himself just above Inlé's head. "Very interesting, Inlé. I’ve never heard of a dream quite like it. Now, you say you first had it five years ago, when you were eleven?"

"Twelve, but just barely. And I have had it every once in a while ever since." That much was true. Inlé remembered it in dream almost regularly. Almost, but never when it was really expected.

Looking back at himself, Inlé was surprised at how much he had changed in just five years. He remembered back to when he regularly wore a pair of blue jeans and a sports shirt, complemented by a shaved head to made showers faster. Even then he'd hated water.

Collecting a mental image of himself now, his hair had become almost as long as his arm. Almost as long as that of the man in his dream. He kept it tied up in a topknot, letting it hang so long as it stayed out of his face. His attire was also different: Black knee-shorts and a black tee-shirt, neither with any markings on them, with an orange hooded sweatshirt over the tee, tattooed with various sigils and designs. Inlé knew all too well that he was not who he once had been.

"Yes, and does any of this dream ever change?" The doctor asked, looking down at Inlé with one eye through those small, round, fish-eye lens that so many in his profession seem to have.

"No," Inlé replied. It never did.

The doctor put the pad onto his lap, as though he were being more attentive. Or wanted Inlé to think so. "And do you ever act on this dream or on any others you may have?"

"Would I be here if I did not?"

"No," he sighed, "I suppose not." He shifted again, "So then, the question is rather how have you acted on these dreams?"

Inlé's arm being across his eyes, he couldn’t see what the doctor was doing, but knew he was preparing to jot down whatever Inlé was about to say. He was audio-recording this, their first session, but still he jotted notes. At least he was interested in actually helping, Inlé considered, even if he thought Inlé was just a crazy kid.

"Well," Inlé began, "I guess it all started around a week after I first had the dream. I disappeared for about three days and had everyone worried. I had no recollection of disappearing, just of going to the bathroom. It all went downhill from there.

"For a few months, I would disappear every time I did something alone. Sometimes I would be gone for minutes, sometimes for days. On a few occasions, I wound up in different places. You know, when weird stuff happens to you like that, people start to shun you.

"Even old friends."

"Well, that’s a very interesting story," the psychiatrist said, after a pause. "But dreams are dreams. How could they cross over into reality?"

"Well," Inlé tried, "what about memories being repeated?"

He paused, "So this actually happened to you, do you believe?"

"No," Inlé answered, "that would be crazy. You know, like not existing when others are not around. I was just pointing out when dreams and reality cross paths."

"But that’s just reminiscing, not dreaming." Though the doctor rarely meant to sound condescending, (as now he only meant to kindly correct,) his voice had an aggravatingly strong tone to it that made him sound as though he were perpetually looking down on whomever he spoke with.

Inlé asked, "Even when asleep?"

"Even then," He reaffirmed.

Inlé sat up, turning to look at his psychiatrist. It was then that Inlé realized how young he was. Appearing to be in his mid-to-late thirties, the doctor's hair wasn’t yet graying, though the stress of this job was already wearing on him. His face was lined with worries one outside the profession couldn’t begin to imagine, many of them not originally his own. His brown hair was balding, or rather had already become bald from brow to the back of the head, leaving a wide band around the sides, but nothing on top. It fit him, making him seem more like Freud than if he’d grown a large beard in place of the delicate horn goatee he sported. The similarity between he and Freud stopped there, though. He did not smell at all of cigar smoke, and did not look as though he’d ever prescribed himself cocaine.

"Well doctor," Inlé began, rising to his feet, "thank you for your time. I know I can be a bore with my stories."

"Oh, no," he said. "That was more interesting than most of my appointments for today promise to be. You can schedule your next one in the lobby with Tanya."

Inlé tried, though he knew the answer, "Will I need another appointment?"

The doctor sounded more surprised at the idea than Inlé expected. "Won't you?"

Inlé shrugged and headed for the door. "Yeah, you are right. If I do not schedule myself, my mother or the police will, correct?"

He answered, "Only until things are sorted out. You need to be patient. You've caused a lot of trouble lately, Inlé. It only makes sense that they would seek to intervene."

Inlé pulled the office door closed behind himself. "Yeah ... I know."