The Dreams of Lorna Deepsleep

Richard saw Alice from the door, she’d moved while he’d been in the lavatory. He’d thought, briefly, that she was somebody else, which could’ve been a problem, had it been the case, but the only problem he could see, if it was a problem, was who she was speaking to or more likely listening to. Alice liked to listen. It was definitely Alice, her hair was red. Perhaps then the problem was not who she was sitting with but why and did they have a problem. It didn’t matter; if they did have a problem then he would try to help. Richard walked to where they were sitting and sat down.

Alice looked at him with wide eyes and then looked at the person sitting next to her. Richard could see she had a problem but wasn’t sure if he could help with it because he was aware that the problem might become his. This feeling of potential problems was a problem in itself and could not be ignored. He looked at the person opposite and smiled.

Billy looked at the stranger and saw himself. He moved his hand to his head and felt for the bumps, not for the first time that day he wondered how serious the damage was.

“Are you Billy?” asked Billy, “Billy Smith?”

It was several moments before Richard thought seriously about the question and its implications. He looked at Alice but she was still staring with wide-eyes.

“You are....?” he said enquiringly to Billy.

“I’m not sure,” answered Billy, with hesitation. “People have been call me Dick.”

“Yes you are Dick,” said Alice, suddenly, “Richard Jones.” She rose from her seat abruptly, “Please excuse me,” she said and walked towards the door marked toilets.

Richard could see that there was no longer a problem that was his. There was a problem but it was definitely not his. This made him happy, very happy, because he could help this person with their problem; he wasn’t sure about Alice for the moment. An idea was forming in his mind, ideas constantly formed in Richard’s mind, sometimes they were clear, and sometimes they were not. Often they mingled with each other and caused confusion but this new idea was clear, very clear.

“So do you live here, around these parts, Mr. Jones? Dick, if I can call you Dick...?” said Richard with a huge grin.

“I’m not sure,” said Billy. “I think I have a house a short way from here but things have been very strange, I really couldn’t be sure. I’ve had a bang or two on the head..... Do you think I look like you?”

“That depends, “said Richard, “On your perspective, I personally think that I look like you, wouldn’t you agree?”

The wall was grey, the colour of concrete and the sky a similar colour, if you looked at it but Billy didn’t, he looked at the wall and that was all he saw. It was an interesting wall, however, with lumps but not large lumps, just different size lumps and not what you might call small. The size of these lumps was irregular and that was what was interesting, at least to Billy. He suspected that the lumps on his head were not dissimilar to those he was looking at. He hadn’t seen those on his and so couldn’t be sure but he had hit his head more than once and he had felt them. They were there now and that was an indication of how long ago he had fallen from the loft, if he had indeed fallen from the loft. It occurred to him, once again, that he may still be in the loft and what was now happening was a serious delusion. He concluded that he didn’t have any idea where he was for sure or what was happening, that he knew nothing at all was certain and that was something he needed to think about.

He watched the wall.

The fly was a large fly or a small beetle with wings, giving it the ability to fly but it crawled. It was watching Billy, watching it. The creature had a different view of the wall but could see Billy was looking at it. It meant nothing to the beetle-fly. If it wanted to, thought Billy, it could fly off to another part of the wall. For some reason it didn’t and that was probably to do with the brain that the beetle-fly had, or there may have been another reason, Billy had no clue and continued to study the wall.

The wall needed washing because it was the type of wall that nearly always needed washing. This one was painted white and became dirty quickly. The wall was really not significant except that it was part of a large hospital. It was Billy’s first visit to a hospital, large or small and this was the waiting area, Dr Smith had said. He seemed to be next as there was nobody standing either side of him and he had the sign on his back that said he was next. The wait would be one hour, Dr. Smith had said unless somebody called him sooner. Billy didn’t wear a watch, the strap was broken and time had not had any real meaning for some time anyway. He had been to many places in no time at all. The day was grey, there was no sun shining down on him, and he wasn’t certain when it last had or would again, perhaps tomorrow, he thought, if that day ever arrived. Nothing was certain and that was all that he knew for definite right now.

People, as well as the beetle-fly, were looking at him but Billy couldn’t see them and continued to look at the wall. It was cracked in places and there were some small holes where there had once been lumps. The lumps had fallen off and the holes were joined by the cracks. Billy hoped his head lumps had not fallen off and left holes in his head with cracks to join them.