Fever Dreams?

So, I think I might be sick. There's been this wicked stomach thing going around, and while I haven't thrown up (in sixteen years) I'm not feeling great. Sleeping last night was a challenge because I had horrible chills - but I also had a crazy, crazy dream. For no other purpose but to tell someone...here goes. I dreamt that James Franco came to my house to try and sell me a vacuum cleaner. He was dressed as cookie monster, had a sesame street back pack, and was holding a full sized gum ball machine like the ones at the mall. It was bizarre.

Valentine's Flash Fiction

Clich´e Chronicles Vol. 2

"Love is a Choice"

The building was unassuming and sterile, the windows obscured by part-time-model couples clad in overreaching smiles. A sign blazed above the door in stark white helvetica. “Cupid, Inc.” I had seen their ads in the paper – thin, finger-staining fliers that boasted promises of love. Valentine's Day special; fall in love for 50% off the whole month of February! My stomach hurt.

       “You ready, David?”

        I turned to face her. Riley was stunning. She had a small, angular face with exaggerated features. Her frame was soft and somehow willowy. The girl was all eyes and tits, but I didn't feel a thing.We'd gotten married in our youth, blinded by the arrogance of young adulthood. Our marriage would be different. Chemistry was an illusion, and sparks were overrated. We would show the world that neither was a necessity for success. All one needed was friendship and drive. We were wrong. 
        “I don't know.”

        She released an exasperated huff that dissipated like smoke on the February air.
        “So, you don't even want to love me.” It wasn't a question.

        “I...I don't know, Ry, do you love me?”

         Her face twisted into a knot. “I want to. I want this to work.”

         I thought back over the almost four years we'd spent as husband and wife; the loneliness, the silences, the petty arguments, the awkward sex.
        “Why?”

        “Think of how much easier it would be, David. No failure, no judgement, no having to rebuild our lives from nothing. We can be happy.”

         I looked to the open-mouthed smiles of the models on the windows, their eyes lost in laughter. Happy looked a lot like lying to me.
        “This is really what you want?”

         “It is.”

         There was something attractive about going back to sleep; of plugging into the matrix and dissolving into a world of pet-names and smiley brunches.

         Without meaning to I pulled my phone from my pocket and watched the little green light blink. I already knew who the waiting message was from. Cora was a strange woman. In a world of gingerbread men she was a genuine original. Her only cookie-cutter twin on this rock was me. We each possessed one hemisphere of the same brain. I hadn't meant to fall in love with her. Hell, I hadn't even meant to meet her.

       I looked up again to the clownish faces on the window, my eyes aching with the threat of angry tears.
       “Okay.”

         Riley grabbed my hand and headed for the door. The waiting room was pristine. The lighting was a harsh, florescent white that showcased every coffee stain on the battered travel magazines. Plan your second honeymoon!

        “Riley and David Rae?” 
         A woman with a clipboard stood framed in the doorway, her pink scrubs dotted with tiny red hearts.

        “That's us.” 
          Riley stood with a forced smile and grabbed my hand. I suppressed a scoff. We were there because we weren't in love, and everyone knew it. There was no point in pretending.

         The “nurse” (or whatever the hell she was) led us into a small room that housed what looked like two dental chairs. The green vinyl squeaked beneath me as I slid onto it and stared into the overhead light.

        “So, tell me a bit about your situation.”
         The "nurse" put the tip of a pen to her clipboard and looked at Riley to speak.

        “Well, David and I have been married for a little over three years now. We never dated. We'd been friends for years and just, I don't know, thought it would be a good idea...”

        The nurse nodded as she wrote. “Vegas?” she asked.

        Riley blushed. “No, actually. We had a wedding.”

        The nurse smiled. “Well, your situation is very common. People take the dive for lots of reasons and end up sitting right where you are now.”
        I couldn't help but think of all the loveless asses that had been right where mine was. I fought a frown.  
        “Well, if I could just have you each sign and date this form, I'll go mix up the magic, and the Doctor will be in shortly.”

       Riley signed the form without reading it, then handed the clipboard to me.

I, ______, am aware that all effects and treatments provided by Cupid Inc. are temporary and require biannual procedures to maintain. Cupid Inc. cannot be held liable for any subsequent legal and/or criminal damage on part of the patient or his/her significant other due to the loss of said effects, i.e. physical/psychological injury resulting from spousal/domestic abuse, divorce, alimony, child support...

I looked up from the clipboard. Riley was examining her fingernails. I couldn't understand how she was so calm while my insides were screaming. My chest ached with a pain that made me wonder if I was dying. I could hear my own pulse, and couldn't tear my thoughts away from Cora; her mossy green eyes, her nose, crooked from a childhood injury, the tiny freckles on her face only visible close up. She was not what one would call a typical beauty, but she was the most gorgeous creature I'd ever seen. I wanted to scream.
        The door opened.

       “Hi there, folks, I'm Larry Bennet, or as my colleagues call me, 'Doctor Feelgood.'”
        The room echoed with his and Riley's dry laughter, and the nurse re-entered the room with two syringes on a tray.

       “We all set?”
         She looked at me and the form in my hands.

       “Oh, uh...” I raised the clipboard and was distracted by the glint on my wedding ring. Forsaking all others...fuck. Closing my eyes I pressed the pen to the paper and signed my name.

       “Great!”
        The nurse grabbed the clipboard from my hands and immediately rolled up my left shirtsleeve. She used two fingers to tap against the inside of my elbow and tied my upper arm with an oversized rubber band.
       “Doctor, he's ready.”

       Doctor Dipshit approached me with needle raised. His too-white smile was showing too much and matched his tacky lab coat too well.
       I'm sorry, Cora. I rammed my eyes shut, and held her image on the inside of their lids.

       The pinch of the needle was brief. The doctor untied my upper arm, and allowed the sticky, alien warmth to spread throughout my body, slowly erasing the magic from Cora's face. She slipped away.
       I sat for a small eternity, feeling progressively more apathetic until I heard my name.

      “David?”
        It was the voice of an angel. I snapped my eyes open with a smile on my face and gazed at my wife, perfection personified. Her giant blue eyes pierced my soul, and her frame made me want to cry. I roved my eyes over her tiny details. I loved all of them, and would continue to love them... for up to six months.  

2012, Carolynn Staib - cfstaib@gmail.com