Flux

nightmare of the battlefield and half remembered fragments of a dark and dusty place.
    “Ignore their calls and don’t give in.”
    “Pardon?” asked Iain, slightly confused.
    “What I meant is, you can learn a lot from your dreams, I know that they’re frightening but pay attention to the details, stay strong and that’s where you might well find the answers.
    Iain simply nodded; slightly confused, he didn’t quite digest what she was saying.
    Shortly after, their session came to a close and after saying their goodbyes, Iain was left to enjoy what was left of his Sunday afternoon. He was slightly disappointed to have missed the rest of the film, but it had been good to speak to somebody about his dreams, even if he did think the advice given a little odd. Flicking through the TV guide, he found a western about to start and finally rolled himself the joint he’d been looking forward to.

Chapter Thirteen
    Everyday Stress

    In his nightmare, he was being chased; down into the fiery pit.

    “Hello, I’d like to make an appointment with Doctor Goodman please.” Iain’s first priority of the day was to call the hospital and get himself checked out.
    “Doctor Goodman’s busy on her rounds right now, if you leave your name and number I’ll get her to call you as soon as she can.” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded like she told the same message a thousand times a day.
    “OK, can you let her know it’s urgent please?” after he’d given his details.
    “Yes, will do.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Bye.” The phone went dead.
    Now it was time to make the call he’d been dreading, the one to work. The receptionist who answered sounded cheerful.
    “Hi, can I speak to Michelle please?” He was transferred without another word being uttered.
    “Hi, can I help you?” It was his manager.
    “Hi Michelle, it’s Iain.”
    Hello, how are you? We were all so worried when we heard.” Her voice sounded tainted with saccharin, full of false concern. Iain knew she didn’t give a shit.
    “I’m not too bad, they’ve let me out of hospital now.” He put on his ‘ill’ voice, the one everybody uses when phoning in sick.
    “Oh that’s good, very pleased to hear it. Are you coming back to work soon?”
    “So I still have a job then?”
    “Of course you do.”
    “Well, I’m going to see the doctor today and I’ll let you know what they say. Hopefully it won’t be too long,” he lied, not looking forward to once again becoming a corporate slave.
    “Yes please, if you can? I hope to see you soon. You need a clean bill of health from the doctor before we can let you return to work; you know, health and safety and all that, we have to cover ourselves.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    With the chore of making phone-calls out of the way, he made himself some breakfast and readied himself to receive the call back from the hospital. He didn’t have to wait very long for just as he was finishing his toast, the phone rang.
    “Hello,” he answered.
    “Hello, Doctor Goodman here, how are you feeling?”
    “A bit ropey if the truth be known.”
    “Erm, OK. Can you get here for ten thirty?”
    Iain looked at the time, it was nine twenty five. “Yes, if I leave now.”
    “OK, see you in a bit.”
    With no time to lose, he dressed himself and made his way out of the flat. There were two letters waiting for him on the mat downstairs. His heart sank; one was a first class letter from the bank. They only send first class letters when it’s bad news. Opening it, he found this time to be no exception, the bank were kindly letting him know that he was well over his overdraft limit, and the direct debit for rent had gone unpaid. And they’d charged him thirty pounds for the privilege. He tore open the other letter; this one was from the landlord to let him know the rent was two months in arrears. Either the full amount was to be handed over, or they wanted him out of the flat. Neither of these letters bore the news Iain wanted.
    No time to sort it out now. If he was to make his appointment, he had to leave. Stuffing the letters into his pocket, he opened the door. A lone magpie was perched on the railings, laughing at him.
    “Oh fuck off will you,” he muttered angrily in the bird’s direction as he passed.

    Looking from the bus window as he travelled towards the hospital, he saw one or two more shadowy figures amongst the pedestrians. He was becoming sure they were ghosts. Always a sceptic on matters of the