Field Mice
8. Three Worlds
Somehow, the horizon and the sky were not quite matching up. It was the same with the ceiling and the wall. And the supernova-crossed-black hole-thing in the distance was strangely lacking in perspective whatsoever.
"Ah, there you are," and then there was the strange, fuzzy man that he had failed to notice, "Have a seat."
He did not remember the chair being there before, either. But the chair was less likely to attack him when he was not looking, and so he remained standing and staring at the stranger.
"You," the fuzzy man said, "must be Elijah Kimball, yes?"
Normally, it would have been an affront to be named by a total stranger. This time, it was all he could do to remain indignant, "Who are you?"
"I am the Dreamweaver," stepping forward from behind a desk, that had not previously been, he bowed politely, "But if you prefer, Frederick S. Yates, at your service."
"Dreamweaver?" Elijah echoed, catching another at your service! for the effort. Blindsided, he only said, "Um," where he meant something closer to, What are you on about?
"Oh, well... you see, all this is your dream," Frederick indicated with a sweep of his arm, "Your subconscious. I am projecting myself here, to speak with you... You are Elijah?"
"Yeah. Who else would I be?"
"A figment, and that wouldn't do at all."
"A what?"
"A figment."
It sort of made sense, if not at all. "Oh."
"Yes, well, anyway, over that way is the event horizon of the Otherworld... some of my kind like to call it the Darkside, but it's not that bad. Usually, or it depends on who you run into, but even so, Jennifer wouldn't go over there if it were all that bad. Still, you shouldn't go over there just yet-"
"I don't see anything."
"All the same," Frederick shrugged, "Have a seat. We'll talk."
"I prefer to stand," Eli pointed out, "And we are talking. What is-" Finding himself seated, and, most suspicious, he glared, "What is all this?"
"Ah. As I was saying, this is your subconscious. I'm here because your mortal shell is in a bad way, and I need to find out what, if anything, you want us to do with it.
"You see, you're dying; or you would be, if you weren't here. I'm rather surprised you made it this far; your chest is mostly liquidated on the inside, quite nasty."
Frederick smiled brightly, "But you know, I think you might have a little of us in you. It would explain a lot."
"Some of..." Elijah had a bit of trouble following, especially since most of the conversation... were they having a conversation? was inferred on retrospect. "Who are you?"
"Frederick."
"That isn't... You..." Without anything to say, he did not say anything.
"I'm here to offer you your choices. We can reconstruct your body, but to do it safely, it could take time... a lot of time. Possibly decades, to be done correctly. Or we could try to do it swiftly, but our methods and human physiology don't mix very well, and your body could become unstable, and likely dead outside of Eden. Or equally probable, fall apart in the effort."
A tumbleweed rolled by, pulled along on a string. Frederick drew little faces in the far-yet-near clouds, and Elijah merely stared.
"Of course, it's all your choice," the fuzzy man interjected, "We could do nothing, if that is what you want.
"Now if you excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere for a moment. I shall return again."
He disappeared, and the landscape faded. Thoroughly confused, Elijah blinked.
"Wait, what?"
But it was too late; he was already slipping back into a lesser state of awareness.