Read'N'Dash Fiction: How's The Whiskey?

"I'm not even sure you'll remember any of this. Not that it matters in the slightest."

The voice drifted out of nowhere and rang through him like an alarm in the cold of morning. He opened his eyes and stared at the man before him blankly. He tried to get his bearings. Figure out where he was and who this man before him was.

"How's that whiskey?"

Again, the dreamer failed to piece together what was going on. Confusion started to give way to fear. He didn't recognize anything around him. He could barely put the objects in the room together.

"It just gets worse from here, you know? The confusion. The hallucinations." The man speaking took a step forward and a shaft of light illuminated his face. He was dark and his afro was tight on his scalp. The wide mouth set in the large jaw cracked into a slow smile as he adjusted his tie. "Horrid feeling, really - that confusion. The complete lack of base." He shook his head and chuckled. "Adrift on a sea of unfamiliar memories."

The dreamer stood and looked into his hand. The whiskey glass was gone, replaced by a pencil. He dropped it absently.

The voice. "Top of the stairs. First door on the right."  It broke in before the dreamer could utter, "Where's the bathroom."

The dreamer blinked hard and turned - making his way to the dim staircase. The climb seemed surreal. More surreal than the somewhat one sided conversation in the...living room? He couldn't remember now.

He reached the bathroom and closed the door. The space was tight and cramped - the style was Victorian and close. A basin with a mirror ground into his hip on the left and a toilet - obviously picked for its demure size and shape - was on the right. Light poured in from the small, ornate window. Cut and shaped colored glass at the top cast lovely shadows on the pale walls.

The dreamer blinked again and turned the tap on. Dipping his right hand in while clutching at the rim of the basin for support, he splashed his face with water and took momentary pleasure in the cool wetness. Leaning back and gazing into the mirror, he saw that there was no liquid on his face. His hand was bone dry.

A figure caught his gaze below outside the window. It wore a heavy dark coat and jeans. He couldn't tell if it was male or female. He couldn't see its face. It stood between the trees below and stared up with a shadowy face that filled the dreamer with dread and sadness.

Orange leaves littered the ground and a wind sent a ripple through them as the figure turned and walked away slowly. Gone.

"It'll just get worse from here."

The dreamer opened his eyes and stared at the blonde woman before him.

"The doubt. The sadness. You'll fight it," she sad sadly as she clicked her heel against the hard wood flooring of the living room, "but it just gets worse."

The dreamer realized that a glass was against his lips. Cool liquid was pouring down his throat. It burned as it traveled down to his belly.

"I'm not even sure you'll remember any of this. Not that it matters in the slightest."

The voice drifted out of nowhere and rang through him like an alarm in the cold of morning. He shut his eyes and opened them again. He stared at the woman before him blankly. He tried to get his bearings. Figure out where he was and who this woman was before him.

"How's that whiskey?" She smiled sadly.