Everything Is, Nothing Is

by callmepagliacci

She comes here one night a week, the darkest of circles under her eyes, and allows herself to be attached to all those wires and tubes and needles. She hates needles, hates the attention of all the techs. But she comes anyway, because Bella Swan can't dream on her own. With my machine, I can make her dream. It's the only way I can make her see me at all.

3. Paprika

EVERYTHING IS, NOTHING IS

Legal BS: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 CallMePagliacci. All rights reserved.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Three: Paprika

Three items sit on my desk. My laptop, currently running simulations of a dream I'm constructing for Bella. The oxblood vial of my new compound. And a cephalopodian arrangement of wires, leads, and sensors. The second two items don't officially exist.

I try to focus on the computer, on my life's work. My study. Which has become almost entirely my study of Bella.

The dream is innocuous enough. She dines at a beautiful restaurant with a man who adores her. He has eyes like mine, hair like mine, a body like mine, but he's not me. He can't be me, because Bella has no memory of me to recall in her dream state. We've never met. All I have are interviews performed by other doctors, her medical history, and my machine. That plate of one-way glass remains as impenetrable as a lead shield.

My hands tremble and my eyes flicker, once again, to my latest creations—the vial and the device. Unethical. Immoral. Wrong.

But I so very much want her to dream of me.

The simulation program beeps, signaling completion. I tsk and shake my head. The computer model suggests a level 3 electrical impulse on lead 6 to trigger a feeling of warmth and satiation after her meal. I know that Bella will need at least a level 5 impulse. Something within her psyche resists those emotions—it took me months to perfect the dancing dream.

I make my notes for the evening, and planned updates for the simulation program. The red vial burns an afterimage into my peripheral vision; I see it everywhere I look. When I pick it up, it feels like much more than a few grams. The unrequited has its own gravity.

I put the vial in my pocket. I'll keep reminding myself I can never use it. It's only a matter of time until I cave.