She knew this was a dream. The sky was white, without a speck of cloud. She was gliding over the grass; no effort was required. She had been here before. Across the field, she saw a bench jutting out, a man with a straight back sitting on it.
She was sucked into the atmosphere and found herself sitting next to him. He had long, coarse, thick, black hair; falling over the ears. In a deep, husky voice, he said “ So, Ira , reading a lot of Freud lately?”
Taken aback, she replied ”Yes, just finished it before sleeping”.
“So, what does Mr. Freud speak of people like me?”
“Not much, but you are an outgrowth of our imagination”
He offers her a cigarette and lights it fluidly. Her nerves settle a little and she asks “Every day you meet me and every day I wake up exhausted although my roommate says I sleep like a dog. You know everything about me, everything I read, I think”.
“ You sound like you want to sleep with me, make me feel like Machiavelli’s Prince.”
“Except that you aren’t. I already am in love with Sam.”
“Leave him. Come with me. He has an ass of wax. Your heat will melt him anytime.”
She laughs, “And yours is of iron, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, reliable. Kiss me now and you will never wake up there.”
He snapped his fingers and Bach started playing somewhere.
“I know that. I don’t think you are in love with me. You are in love with Dostoyevsky, Turgenev, Verdi, Freud, Jung. I made you. I enjoy you, more than Sam. If I kiss, I might not wake up again. Maybe, I ‘ll be in coma but my mind will be forever locked here with Bach, you and everything I want”.
And she kisses.
About the Author: Kumar Harsh is a student at the Delhi Technological University, New Delhi. This Flash Fiction is an entry in our Paranormal Romance contest.
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