The Allure of Other

CW: Substance abuse, Mental health

There were no signs indicating he was in the right location. Not that he had expected any. Afterall, making a purchase on the dream market was forbidden, with the punishment being death–an eternity without dreams.

Just one last one. I need it tonight, and then I’ll have enough memories to carry me through the hard times, he thought. He didn’t truly believe that he could willfully do it, but considering the cost of the dream he desired, he might not have the coin to purchase another one. Not without ending someone else’s dreams.

The streets weren’t even lit in Doli. Sadly typical for the poorer regions of East Saltion, and in great contrast to his home city of Oslidor. At least the oppressive heat of his childhood home was absent here, replaced by mild days and cool nights. A climate much more suited to long, lavish dreams.

He sensed this place was familiar, but he could not recall when he had been here before. His mind was not thinking clearly enough. It had been a long day, and yet another delay keeping him from paradise was one too many. Fists clenched at his sides, he marched up to the nearest building and pounded on the door. When no answer came, he did the same at the next one, and the next. Half a bell passed before his belligerence was rewarded.

“Good evening,” a voice said from behind the crack in the door.

Tilting his head to try to get a look at whoever was speaking to him, Pavir mumbled a greeting before getting to the point of his visit. “Dreams?” he asked.

“What of them?” the voice responded.

If it were a trap, he was already dead, and even that would be a relief at the moment. “I’m here to purchase a dream,” he said.

“Show me the conviction of your request.”

Pavir reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. He poured the gold coins into his hand and looked back toward the hidden figure.

“Come in.”

The door opened just wide enough for him to enter. Once he was within, the door closed behind him and he was encased in pure blackness.

“Follow me,” the voice said, as though it thought nothing of the complete lack of light.

Pavir stood dumbfounded, listening to the footsteps trail away from him for a dozen heartbeats before coming to his senses. “Sir,” he called out, “I can’t see where you are headed.”

The footsteps halted. “Ah. Yes, I forgot. My apologies.” There was a crackling snap up ahead, followed by a faint flicker of light from a lantern ensconced on the wall.

The voice took on the physical appearance of a tall, slender man in his fifth decade, dressed all in black. The man stood still as Pavir approached. When they were an arm’s length apart, Pavir noticed the strangeness of the man’s eyes. Bold yet muted, they were a faint greenish color, almost as if someone had attempted to paint over a bright green wall with white. They were as captivating as they were unique.

Nothing else about the man’s features stood out to Pavir until he caught a glimpse of the man’s hands. The tips of the thumb and first two fingers on the man’s right hand were stained dark. Pavir looked down at his own hand and saw a similar discoloration. The stains were not ink, as Pavir ineffectively told himself others believed during those rare times he was out during daylight hours. Plants. From years of failed experimentation. Costly experimentation.

If the older man detected that he was being examined, he showed no sign of it. He simply turned his back without speaking and continued on his way.

As he followed the man’s leisurely pace, Pavir felt himself begin to shake again. It’s been too long, he thought. He attempted to clench his fists to prevent their tremoring, but to no avail. Soon the sweats would start, if the man in front of him did not quickly grant him his deliverance. Had it been two nights, or three? He was unsure. It felt as though it was double that, but he knew if that were the case, he would be unable to even walk now.

The only way to escape the cycle of ecstasy and desperation was to replace it with nothingness, a condition which he assumed the man in front of him could also deliver. He had heard it took a fortnight to clear the mind of the expectation of blissful dreaming. Two days out, a meal and some water, then repeat at least six more times. He knew it sounded easier in his moments of rabid need than it would be in reality, but that was a problem for the future, and that particular future always seemed to grow more distant.

At the end of the hallway, the man entered a room on the right, not wasting time to hold the door, which slammed closed behind him, nearly smacking into Pavir’s nose. He pushed the door open to reveal four walls enclosing a space approximately the size of a tavern bedroom. It felt even more cramped due to the rows of shelves protruding from each side. Each shelf was littered with bottles of all different sizes, some full of dried leaves, and others with varying quantities of liquids in a variety of colors. There was little doubt now that this man was an experienced herbalist.

From the supports holding up the shelves, nails stuck out every which way, as though they had been added each time a new bottle was placed on the shelf. He was able to identify less than a fourth of the leaves, and even fewer of the liquids. It didn’t help that there was no apparent order to their placement, nor labels anywhere.

The man sat down in the lone chair that was beside a table the size of a nightstand. For the first time, his eyes focused on Pavir. A few heartbeats later, he was nodding in recognition. Pavir felt a fleeting wisp of shame before it shifted to indignation. One glance and he thinks he knows my whole life story. That the herbalist saw true was what hurt the most, but Pavir was practiced in converting judgement into resentment, covering up his feelings with yet another layer of falsehoods. Even when he wasn’t dreaming, he knew how to escape from the unbearable bitterness of truth.

“You’re looking for a romance that should have been. Of success that is rightly yours,” the herbalist stated.

“Perhaps,” Pavir said. “Perhaps not.”

“You didn’t strike me as one who had time for games,” the man said, leaning back in his chair.

Damn him. “I have a specific request. A vivid dream that covers years of life. The woman I have always longed for has the same feelings for me. We spend our lives together, raising the perfect family. And my ambitions are realized after years of hard work, to make them all the more sweet. I’ve had this dream before, but I am unsure of the exact concoction.”

“The price is 35 Jewels,” the herbalist said without hesitation.

That would leave Pavir with one Jewel to his name. Of course he handed over the payment immediately.

The man pocketed the coins and walked over to the shelves on Pavir’s left. Without so much as a pause to scan the shelves, he reached up to one just above his head and pulled down a tiny glass bottle that despite its size, was still only half full. The liquid within was a sickly mixture of yellowish green that remained still even while the bottle jostled.

“It looks similar to what I’ve taken in the past,” Pavir said as he was handed the bottle. “But how can I be certain?”

“Because I am,” replied the man as he sat back down.

Now that it was in his hands, Pavir felt an even greater urge to disappear into his dreamworld. “Do you have a room where I could lie down?” he asked.

“That is one thing I do not offer.”

He had no time to test the veracity of that claim. Instead, he gave a curt farewell and quickly rushed back through the hallway and out into the street.

A few of the buildings he had walked past earlier had looked abandoned. Any of them would do in an emergency such as this. He ran to the nearest one and entered through a broken window. It was a one room building with a dusty wooden floor, devoid of furniture. A few piles of waste were scattered on the floor, but there was a suitable length of clear space at the back end of the room. Shaking so hard now that he had difficulty removing the stopper, Pavir finally opened the bottle, then titled it back and felt the thick liquid slowly drain into his mouth and down his throat. The bottle dropped from his hand as he passed into sleep.

He was a young man, a year away from completing his studies at the Scholar’s Guild. She sat two rows ahead of him in the archives, in the same seat as always. Suddenly she stood up and approached him. She said she had always been in love with him, and that only seeing him from a distance was not enough.

Now he found himself in a laboratory. He was working on creating a new tonic. It was important, but he did not know what it was for. As he heated more leaves and made measurements of green powder, he knew he was close to a breakthrough.

At home with his wife, they welcomed a baby girl into the world. She had her mother’s eyes. He was sure that one day she would follow in their footsteps and graduate from the Scholar’s Guild.

A proud father, he watched his four children playing with his wife in the spacious meadow at the end of their property. She turned to look at him and smiled. The world was a wonderful place.

The trials had all gone better than planned. This tonic would alter the fortunes of those in misery. He would be rich. But what did the tonic do?

Older now, in his fifth decade of life. He held out a vial of his tonic to a familiar looking man who could no longer handle the tragedy of life. The man drifted off into a peaceful sleep, a smile on his face.

“I love you,” she said. “It was always only you. How could I resist those eyes?”

He swirled the mixture in the glass, watched how it moved so languidly. This creation of his was perfect. Everything was perfect…

Pavir knew he was awake before he opened his eyes. His back hurt from a night of lying on the wooden floor. He remained unmoving long enough for the sun to pass from its highest point to its lowest. If he was able to find the sliver of space in between focus and absent-mindedness, he could go back. There was no point in doing anything else. He needed to go back.

The sun set somewhere outside of the miserable city. His mouth was as dry and dusty as the floor that surrounded him. How much longer could he make it without water? Could he lie there two more days, and forever lose the pain of existence by falling into the abyss?

His body would not let him.

Out in the streets, the muted music from a nearby tavern caught his attention. He stumbled over to the window to get a look. But he did not see inside. Instead, he caught a reflection in the glass. It was the ghastly visage of that wretched man he had given the tonic to. The one who smiled for the first time in years when the warm liquid passed between his lips. What was that man doing here? Couldn’t he tell that Pavir didn’t have the tonic, that he had never figured out the formula? Why was he seeking salvation from a failure?

He needed to drink. He entered the tavern and ordered a tankard of ale. He emptied it quickly and ordered another. His body was thanking him, for the time being.

Alone at the end of the bar, his eyes began to survey the establishment. The patrons were mocking him with their revelry. At least the music was pleasant. Where is it coming from? The backroom?

It got louder and sweeter as he made his way through the crowd. Turning a corner, the music engulfed him in its beauty. For less than a heartbeat, he was content. Then he looked to the stage. His beautiful wife was singing and playing the lute. Why was she out so late when the kids were at home sleeping?

“Dearest!” he called out. “Come back home with me!”

The raucous laughter drowned out the song. The woman on stage turned away from him. As two men began to drag him away, she did not look back.

He lifted himself up off the muddy ground. Reality was beginning to beat some sense back into him. He needed to escape again. There was only one way to obtain the relief he needed, but where was that damn building?

The sun had nearly risen again when fate determined he would finally reach his desired destination. He knocked loudly until the door opened, just a crack. A voice greeted him. “Yes?”

“Dreams,” he demanded.

“Dreams?” the voice asked.

Pavir hastily reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. He unfastened the tie and turned it over. A single coin dropped into his hand.

“That is not enough,” the voice said.

“But it has to be!” Pavir yelled.

“Goodnight, sir,” the voice said.

Before the door could close, Pavir had pushed his way inside. He stumbled past the man and began searching in the dark for a door. At the end of the hallway, he reached one and pushed it open. He was greeted by shelves and shelves of bottles. But which one did he need? They all looked so similar.

From behind him, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around. He was about to lash out in anger when he looked up to see his own face staring down at him. The light green eyes looked straight through him to see the failure he tried to hide. “Not tonight,” the man said.

Pavir tried to fight, but he was too weak. After flailing his arms for a few moments, he gave up and slumped to the ground. “I give up,” he said. “I just want to go back. Won’t you let me go back? I would do it for you. I’ve done it for others. Please.”

The man did not reply as he escorted Pavir to the building’s entrance. “I’m sorry for your misfortune, I really am,” the man said as he guided Pavir outside. “But I worked many years for what I have now, and that is why it is so costly.”

Pavir did not answer. The world was snuffing out the candle of his life.

“And please,” the man said, “have the dignity to leave her be.”

With that, he shut the door.

The dream was over, for it had only ever been a dream. Perhaps if he could get back to sleep, he may have the smallest of chances of finding his true life, the life he was meant to have, again.