Homebound man

It was necessary for him to perform a common gesture. He looked at his right hand with the intention of counting his fingers. The nature of the surreal realm made it an impossible task and his index finger grew two inches without any scientific explanation.

I'm asleep. Such was his thought process, and he was right on the money. He was in the middle of a dream. This realization didn't change his emotional state, so he remained in the oneiric world. The environment was blank, which was a bit boring. In order to remedy this feeling, he imagined himself in a park, walking alongside another man. The universe shifted to accomodate for this change. The two men moved through the path, which had grass to the left and right. They stopped their march in unison. The man who wielded the power of lucid dreaming looked at his company in the eyes, and the illusory person did the same. The former person talked:

"Ralph."

"Alan."

His imaginary friend replied. The two of them bumped fists, shook their hands and Ralph patted the psychonaut's back. Alan put his fingers together and put his hand near his crotch. The odd movement caught Ralph's attention, so he looked straight at Alan's hand. Ralph put his palm on his face after realizing he had been duped. Alan gloated in his victory:

"Made you look."

Ralph responded to him:

"Son of a gun!"

And both laughed about the silly practical joke Alan performed.

Alan, the real person, was a tall white man in his late twenties. His short hair was auburn and his irises were green. He visualized himself inside the dream world wearing a gray trilby, a white undershirt, a black tie and a gray suit. His shoes were black moccasins. His gait was swift, but Ralph followed his pace well.

Ralph, his imaginary friend, was of the same age, height and ethnicity as him. He went for a more casual style, with a graphic tee depicting a white sand beach bathed by a turquoise sea, beige cargo shorts and dark blue sandals.

The odd pair followed the path on the park after their laughter stopped. They walked in silence since they were in a liminal state between entertainment and boredom that was very precious to them, and it could be broken by the spell of a well told joke or an irrelevant comment that wouldn't rouse any emotion. But it didn't take a long time to find another source of potential joy. Ralph pointed at a bench with his finger. Alan saw what Ralph wanted him to look at: a homeless man sleeping on the bench.

They kept on walking and stopped when next to the homeless man. Alan thought aloud:

"He stinks of alcohol."

Ralph noted:

"This guy is a heavy sleeper. He can't even hear you."

"Bro."– Alan compelled his friend's attention. – "Are you thinking... what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah. He doesn't seem to have any valuables though."

"I don't mean your vice, I mean my own."

"Alright, my dude. I forgot where your ride was, though."

"There's no need to take him somewhere else. There is not a single soul here other than us three."

Ralph nodded. He began to rummage through his pockets and he lamented his lack of tools.

"Damn. I only have a knife, some pliers and the device to... the nutcracker."

"That's not what it's called. I guess we have to make do with those three items. I'm surprised, though. Are you lacking, for real?"

Ralph handed the tools to the real person and retorted:

"No, I always have my Colt on me. It's not conducive to a long, drawn out conclusion, though."

"It is if the subject is shot outside center mass or head. For example, on the foot."

"Oh. You and your demonic mind. I only carry for self defense."

"Lame."

Alan squatted and took a moment to absorb the stamp of the vagabond into his mind. He observed how the vagrant had tanned skin, gray hair, wrinkles and an unusually small stature. He saw the way his diaphragm expanded and his chest bulged, and the opposite motion when he exhaled. Alan was shaken to the core by the fact the old man was alive, and, in a fit of rage, he drove his friend's knife into the right hand of the homeless man.

The white noise in the park was tainted red with the homeless man's scream. Alan's imaginary friend clapped at the sight of the old man grabbing his right hand and writhing in pain. The injured man was moving so frantically that Alan recoiled in order not to be hit by his arms flailing in the air. The victim of gratuitous violence fell off the bench face first owing to his sudden movements. Alan stared at him while Ralph laughed at his lack of coordination in an extreme situation. Alan bossed his friend around:

"Ralph, immobilize his left arm." – He put the knife in his pocket, then took out the pliers. – "I'll be using these now."

"On it!"

Ralph appreciated his friend's forcefulness, since when the tables had turned, Alan helped him perpetrate theft and pickpocketing. On such situations, one person submitted to the other in order to get the job done, so Alan treating him like an extension of his will felt honest to him.

Ralph put his foot on the poor man's left shoulder and crouched so as to put his right knee on his elbow area. The defenseless person tried to hit him with his free hand, but he was so injured he couldn't form a fist so he just pawed away at Ralph's leg, who suffered no damage from such an action. Alan knelt down and gestured at Ralph to grab the elderly person's wrist so as to turn it. He was elated at the sight of the man's fingernails. They were filthy and long.

Alan operated the pliers with the aim of removing the fingernail attached to the pinky finger. Blood came out of the finger as the psycho extracted the body part from its place. The old man screamed all throughout the process. Alan looked at the keratin structure, completely separate from its place, and smiled with glee. The old man talked to him while panicking, pleading for his life, bargaining with all his possessions. Alan couldn't tell what the man was saying at this point. He was absorbed by the sight of the blood flowing out of the finger.

Alan noticed the smell of pee assault his olfactory bulbs. This wasn't a pleasant experience for him, but he pushed through it and directed his pliers to the ring finger of the innocent man. Out of the blue, Ralph incorporated and went on a mad dash through the park. Alan got annoyed because the homeless man could now pose resistance. The torturer looked to his left and shouted:

"What the fuck are you doing, Ralph? Come back!"

His dreamscape friend ignored him and all he could do was watch his figure shrink in his view as there was more and more distance between them. Alan sighed and muttered under his breath:

"What has come over him?"

And he decided to continue his assault on the homeless man. When he turned his head, he saw the vagabond's face express superlative fear. As if all he had experienced was but a jumpscare in a film and he was now face to face with a tiger. Alan slowly moved his gaze towards whatever frightened the vagrant.

He first saw its footwear: white strap shoes. Then his gaze went upwards, first noting that its ankles were white as snow, next he noticed its gargantuan legs that were covered by light brown chinos of a size no tailor has ever seen. Alan's body hair stood up and his pupils dilated, owing to the huge stature of the apparition. But he couldn't help but keep looking, trying to comprehend the unknowable.

The torso of the creature was covered in robes akin to those of a bedouin. Alan had his mouth agape, stupefied by the phenomenon he witnessed. As his eyes moved towards the neck of the creature, he debated whether to shout or to keep quiet, so his mouth kept opening up and closing down. Tears began to flow through his cheeks as he saw what was beneath the creature's turban: a head devoid of any face, as if someone had ordered a nine feet tall crash test dummy.

The creature slouched forward, then it moved its arms towards the direction of the vagabond on the ground. Alan could not process what the apparition wanted from him, his mind was far away from it and next to it at the same time. He received a voice inside his head. It was impossibly low pitched and no human could ever hope to match its cadence no matter what vocal technique he used.

"Go on, kill him."

Alan felt all lifeforce leave his body.

Alan woke up, screaming. His heartbeat was fast. His breathing accelerated. The lucid dreamer thought: I must relax. It was but a nightmare. He focused on his breathing and while he was correcting it, he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was six fifty seven AM. He got his respiration under control. After that, he took the clock and disabled the alarm. It's close enough, anyway. So thought the man, referring to the time of day.

The protagonist left his twin bed. Alan intended to make his bed, but his mind wasn't fully in it, so he left it messy for the time being. His bedroom was minimalist, containing a bed, a white wardrobe and a black nightstand. Alan opened the window in order to let light and air enter his home. He left the bedroom and headed towards his bathroom. His hallway had the monotony of the white walls all over the house broken up by miniature paintings. They depicted picturesque landscapes.

The white man was at the faucet. He cupped water on his hands and wetted his face with it. He removed his eye discharges. He opened the drawer so as to get the items he needed: a razor and shaving cream. Alan applied the method and got a nice clean shaven look as a result. He couldn't help but smile when he completed the task, thanking his parents wordlessly for making him the handsome man he saw in the reflection.

His next task was to make himself breakfast and thus kickstart the day with energy. To this end, he walked to his kitchen. This room was a bit more colorful than the rest of the house, as its walls featured yellow tiles. Alan went up to his coffee machine and operated it in order to have an espresso. At the same time the machine was doing its thing, he went up to his fridge and took bread and butter. He made a sandwich with some ham inside. The coffee was ready, so he took the nourishment from the counter and sat down at the table in order to have breakfast.

Upon satisfaction of his hunger, Alan decided he would burn the free time he attained from waking up earlier grinding in a video game. He booted up his console and played Four guys in a row but it's the 23rd game.

Time flew by fast for him even though the actions he took in the game were repetitive. He stopped gaming when he realized he was a bit behind in schedule regarding his daily routine. The green eyed man went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and perform excretion. Once he was done, he returned to his bedroom to change from his pajamas to a black plain T-shirt and some gray shorts. He proceeded to make the bed.

Alan opened the windows of his home. Following that action, he entered his studio. The room consisted of a large desk, an ergonomic chair, a desktop PC and three bookcases filled to the brim with books. Alan was running out of time before work, so he prioritized checking in and starting his day over checking his email inbox like he normally would.

Alan was a senior developer at a software company. He worked in tandem so as to design solutions. He had proved his mettle at other software developer jobs beforehand, so he applied for a remote work position and he succeeded. The job offering specified a nine-to-five work schedule, but Alan would often find himself twiddling his thumbs for hours at a time owing to a light workload and the posturing of the company having to employ people full time. That day was not an exception, and after his job was done Alan spent his time watching a crude movie about a marginalized black man being hunted for sport by millionaires of Caucasian ascent. He was disgusted by the hopeful and saccharine like feel good ending of the flick. He recollected a good film and thought: Man, I should have just rewatched The Ring. This film was garbage.

It was break time and Alan was hungry. He went to the kitchen and put his deep fryer over the counter. It already had enough oil to work. As the appliance was heating up the oil, he took the primary ingredient, sardines. The white man put the sardines inside the deep fryer so they would be done. He then retrieved some salad from his fridge and placed it on a plate. While the food was getting ready, he cut a lemon in half so he could squeeze it over the fish for a citric touch on the main dish.

After having lunch, he meditated for fifteen minutes. The sound of the alarm on his phone served as his cue to end the meditation session and go back to work. After all, he had the arduous task of pretending to be productive ahead of him.

He played Scenario where war takes place while on his shift. In order not to be totally bored, he had a Korean drama playing in the background. He called out to his team:

"That fucker called umaloucura35 is walling!"

Cheaters made his enjoyment of the game not very great, to put it mildly. In spite of this, his team won and he finished the match 80-2. The friend requests started flooding his games launcher and he made it a point to reject each and every one of them, down to the last. Alan's reasoning behind this was that he didn't like carrying bad players and that most of the players were way younger than him, so he wouldn't enjoy the prospect of being e-friends with any of them.

It was finally five PM. He logged out and swiftly turned off his PC. He was free to do anything he wanted, so he went to his living room. Alan had repurposed it so it wasn't just a games room with his console and TV, but also a home gym. He was doing exercise when his smartphone got a lot of notifications. He diligently completed his routine before checking his phone, a Google Pixel with a Graphene OS installation. The notifications were messages from several people in different apps. He went through them.