The Dream World Collective

134. A New Story

The Canon River flowed through the center of Thornfield, a thoughtful companion to the patient Minnesotan town. After resting a while in a broad space edged with native rushes and occupied by friendly local ducks, the Canon cascaded smoothly over a small man-made waterfall and continued its journey contained between stylish brick embankments, picking its way gingerly under the bridges and past a small white gazebo before running along merrily to the north of the city.

When the sun set in the clear autumn evenings it lit up the river with a rippling reddish light that set the perfect backdrop for contented young couples and long, contemplative walks.

So it was that a lonely, stoutish figure rambled along the riverside, pausing periodically to lean his elbows on the embankments and gaze at the rushing water and the brilliant banks of sunset clouds, then meandering on with his hands deep in the pockets of his fur-collared greatcoat.

You're allowed to have her, you know.

Macintosh's words simmered in Otto's mind, marinating his scattered thoughts. He remembered the night he'd arrived on the porch of the tower house, his room freshly burned down, and the next morning's breakfast of pancakes and homemade jam. He thought back to freshman year, when his weirdo roommate Zen had forced him along to an art show full of fantastical maps. He thought of the night just a week ago, at the gallery, when Sushi's tiny voice had called to him out of the shadows and she had fallen asleep in his side.

A strange, half-manic giggle forced itself out of him. A fish splashed in the river below and from blocks away he could hear the muffled music of a party at St. Karl. He shook his head and walked on.

He thought of Zen and the way he interpreted everything in life as a grand story. What character am I? he wondered, not quite sure what he even meant by the question. In daily life he always imagined himself as the captain, the conqueror, the bold warrior. Sushi always punched him when he acted epic. The others didn't understand the thrill of a brilliant raid, of a guild pulling together to disembowel the demons of—

And then it hit him. Perhaps it was the forced technological hiatus that did it, or maybe the mind-clearing combination of cool night air and rushing water and solitude. Suddenly he saw himself as the others must, not as brilliant conqueror and captain, but as a pudgy, pale-faced boy hunched for hours and hours in front of his screens.

He recoiled from the image. His pace quickened as he passed the gazebo and walked on into the darkening evening. Suddenly he could see all his virtual conquests from the outside, his weapons and achievements as worthless as if they had burned with his computers.

His mind flicked back to Sushi. She lived her life as a battle, wrestling beauty to the ground and pinning it to canvas, constantly fighting with and for the people she loved. His heart beat faster as it all came together in his mind. It was an inexpressible epiphany. Sushi lived the life he wanted, but for real, and she was beautiful, and he could enter that life, and he had to if he ever wanted to be with her.

To be with Sushi.

The epiphany faded, leaving one idea blazing clear in his mind.

"I like Sushi," he said, and the half-manic giggle escaped him again. He began laughing, looking out over the long-suffering river. You're allowed to have her, you know, replied Macintosh in his mind. "I like Sushi!"

And as he tasted the thrilling new words, a new story took shape in his mind to match them.