Sharon's Dream - A Fantasy Story
Written by Paniq
WARNING! The following shoddy effort is completely unrelated to reality, and if shoddy efforts were able to speak it would certainly confirm that. The described story is entirely fictitional, and none of the persons involved exist in reality, at least I hope that. Thank you, thank you, now sit down, lean back, read, HANDS ON THE TABLE WHERE I CAN SEE THEM (now that's good) and be silent... the play starts... curtain...
Everything is black. Completely dark. The only things Sharon hears are the twittering of the birds and the sounds of the streets which come through the shut window. Sharon opens her eyes. It is still dark because it is winter, a season which she does not like at all, a season in which many animals stay in their caves and sleep. Sharon also wants to be such an animal now, snuggle up in her blanket again, enjoy darkness and silence and switch off completely for at least a month, and she does just that, she pulls the blanket over her head and bends her legs...
Pong! A screen has just fallen down and landed in front of Sharon's feet. She leaps up. The young tracker in front of her with the Simpsons t-shirt murmurs something like, "Do be careful, this one has been lent to me," puts up the screen again, pretending to be more concentrated than he actually is, and carries it backwards. Sharon looks around. It is a loud, big, bright hall. Behind her the black stage, in front of her the tables that are crowded with computers, screens, keyboards, junk food and beer. What catches her attention most is a table that is so blocked with beer that you just have to ponder on the size of its owner's purse. In the rear there is a bar, and behind it there are computers again. Everywhere young men with small tags on their black t-shirts are scurrying around and try to solve a problem concerning the fuses. A slightly older man straight in front of her glances up and then turns his attention to his computer again. In the back several guys of her age are having a lively chat in Dutch, occasionally look at her and show obscene gestures to each other. Although she notices her surroundings Sharon feels strange here, as if she was accepted but not paid any more attention to. That gives her a feeling of security, she can linger about like a spy and watch everything. She moves to the rear, to the bar.
Suddenly she felt observed. A hot-cold feeling appeared in her neck, and the high level of adrenaline made her move way too fast. Next to the door, six metres from her, a peculiar stranger is standing. Peculiar because his face seems almost immaculate. "Adonis," is her first thought although it actually does not suit him. He wears a white, wide t-shirt and wide trousers of the same colour, his a tad long reddish hair is tied in the back, and he smiles at her with his bright green, almost Asian eyes. Warmth fills her, makes its way around her navel, climbs to her back like goose pimples, and Sharon trips over a network cable, leaps up with embarrassment and almost does not dare to turn around again. He is gone.
Terrific, she thinks, not quite sure why she is thinking that, and knocks her dusty jeans. The feeling of warmth remains, she looks around again, red in her face, but nobody seems to have noticed her little stunt or the stranger that was standing next to the door only a short while ago. Even the Dutch have already found another victim for their jokes in the meantime, a young man in a dark red polo shirt, whose sexual orientation, which they impute to him, is indicated by their hand signs if you look at them closely. Sharon is still thinking about the mysterious stranger. What is his handle? Might it be someone she knows from IRC? Some funny person recently spread a photo of hers on her favourite channel, so perhaps the stranger already knew her. As if she was controled by a magical hand, she steps towards the exit, passes by the slide projector beside which the impetuous boy whom she just saw now and a slightly older one, whose blond hair is tied in the back of his head, are talking about plasmas, the smaller one of them seeming to be a bit overzealous. She is searching for something, but she does not know what exactly. The ante-room is filled by laughter, some Belgian guys have nothing better to do than playing crazy sounds of cows on their PCs. "Kids," she thinks although she knows that she is not older than them, and goes downstairs to the basement where the drinks are, because her throat has become pretty dry.
That is why she wants to go downstairs, she thinks, that was it, and relieved she opens the door made of glass behind which the drinks are located. She is standing in front of the slot machine and looking for her money. The door slams shut. She notices how dark and silent this place is, you do not hear anything but the droning of the machine, very pleasant actually.
"Sharon"... the voice cuts the air, warmly and full of promise, in a friendly manner and passionately. She has never heard this voice before but she knows who it belongs to. She whirls around, her dark brown hair slowly describes a circle and sinks down on her shoulders again. A few metres in front of her he is standing. His reddish hair is snaking in the air as if it was under water, his head is slightly bowed, his legs are opened, almost like a samurai fighter he is looking at her, his arms forming a cross in front of him, demanding, knowing. His personality has a magical effect, she cannot think any longer, she takes off, she feels paralyzed. His look is still piercing but reflects incredible warmth and energy, surrounds him like a blue glimmering haze, catches her, makes her whirl around, a bright flash fills her senses. She feels much more excitable at some special parts of her body, walking in her jeans scratches and massages at the same time, the t-shirt becomes tight and rubs the upper part of her body, the floods of senses defeat her thoughts, control her will and force her nerves to dance. The stranger is still standing at his place and staring at her, the colour of his hair seems to have changed, she cannot see anything more except light. She wants him but she does not want him to look at her. As if he guessed her thoughts he bows his head and closes his eyes, his front shows beads of sweat, he clenches his hands. Sharon feels overloaded, she wants it to continue for ever and stop at the same time, she longs for a big bang, the fulfilling of all of her dreams, the answer, when the strange youth spreads his arms in an abrupt movement like an angel, as if he had wings, and the blow of energy throws Sharon backwards, it seems to her as if she flies several miles, a white flash flashes across her body for a second time, apparently starting from the most intimate part of her body, slides up her back, enters the head through her neck, and for a short moment she learns the truth, the joy and the sense of life, everything she will later try to find again in her life. The orgasm dies away in the dark, grey room. The stranger is gone. Sharon is lying on the cold floor, the legs drawn up, she is a bit swimmy. Sweaty and confused she falls asleep...
...or does she rather wake up?
Sharon leaps up. It has become a lot louder outside, the sun is shining into her room... yes, it is her room, there is her blanket, her shelves, the walls, everything hers, something she has a use for, points to orientate herself. She is sitting in her bed and staring to the outside. What was the meaning of this dream? Was that a very indirect way to tell her that she desparately needs a boyfriend or has someone taken over control of her phantasy? Restlessly she leaves her bed and turns on her computer hoping to find answers there. A dark premonition tells her that IRC is now the best way to satisfy her curiosity. On her favourite channel all hell has broken lose, two people are having a quarrel and try to find out who is more 'leet. "Kids," she thinks, stays calm and imagines to close up the two of them in a room together and play crazy sounds of cows until they beg for mercy. Grinning, she wants to send her thought through the phoneline when suddenly a remark appeared on the screen. In all the channel action a humble red line appears, and she can almost hear the voice speaking:
And the feeling appears again, she gets warm, something itches her and flatters her skin at the same time, and her instincts tell her who creates this feeling...
NOW HERE IS THE END. ("Ooooooooch!") No no no, no "to be continued...", nothing. I close my book and you all go to bed, and HANDS ON THE TABLE WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU... now that's good. I hope you liked it and so on pipapo etc. Please send flames to firstname.lastname@example.org.
(I want to mention again that this story is completely unrelated to reality and is just a product of my phantasy which this story, if stories could talk, would warmly apologize for. Thanks.)