Occupant Eight

By Chloelia Salome

Sometimes we think we know everything, but what we know is not real. Rather, it is a mirage of what we should believe reality to be. Since you control your imagination, imagine for me right now a world in which your dreams are not in fact your own. In this world, you don’t have control over your imagination. You receive dreams that are intended to shape your perception of life. Those dreams teach you how to live and how to feel. Otherwise, you live a life of repetition and monotony. You dream the same dreams as your neighbor, your friends, even your parents. You think it’s normal and you don’t question it. Now you’re probably wondering where those dreams come from. It’s simple – occupant eight. She’s a dreamer, unlike you. Through her imagination, you taste the fruits of life without ever having to feel the pain. You can’t tell if you are addicted to occupant eight or the lies she feeds you through the dreams. But that’s something for you to figure out, and perhaps that’ll happen the day you open your eyes and heart to true love. Isn’t it funny, though, how you become in love with an idea of something or someone without ever actually knowing that something or someone? In this world, reality comes from the eye of the dreamer. Things would be simpler if that dreamer was not occupant eight and her dreams were in fact not based on reality. But life’s not simple, and this read may make you uncomfortable. Occupant eight will reveal what we are all thinking and feeling but can neither articulate nor accept as the reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667117676

Book preview

POE

Prologue

Imagine a world where your mind is not your own. Rather, it is a concoction of made-up stories that you are supposed to perceive as those of your own creation.

Those made-up stories paint you to be someone that one with ordinary control over their destiny would never want. The unfortunate truth is that you do not know any better. You only know the reality that is served to you. Because of these made-up stories, you believe you are someone who you are not. You are merely a shell, a placeholder in society.

You never find a reason or need to question who you are. But if you were to, you would realize that you have no f-ing idea who you are. You would be looking into a black, hollow hole. You have no personality, no unique skills, no voice. You never argue—you always take what is given to you and never take more.

You never overindulge.

You are never starving.

You have been tired.

You have felt pain.

But these feelings have always been subdued. If you wonder why, do not think too much into it because you are going to end up at a dead end. We do a good job at hiding the truth from you. You live in an intricate maze and finding your way out is something we do not expect you can ever do. Do as you are told and do as I say. Nothing more.

The beauty of it all is that even I do not know who you are. I cannot tell you to be you. I can only tell you to stick to the status quo, the monotony, and stay under the radar. Make too much of a scene and then we are watching you like a hawk. You do not want us to watch you, because that will lead you to yet another dead end.

So, you see now why I tell you to just follow along? Because if you ever question, doubt, or stray from the path of monotony and uniformity, you are going to end up at a dead end. Guaranteed.

If I am making you uncomfortable right now, then I am doing my job. Do not listen to the people who tell you to find your voice or to find out who you really are. Keep your head down and you will live. I mean, what is more important than living?

Do not answer that question and do not think about that question. Just stay under the radar.

Chapter 1

A bleary day it is. But honestly, when aren’t they? Here, the world is in a constant ebb and flow of cloud and rain. Some days, there is hope on the horizon for a break in the clouds, a sighting of something only seen in the dreams—the sun. In the dreams, you learn that the sun is very bright, that looking at it can make you blind. God forbid you stare at the sun. Then you will surely go blind. So perhaps it is a blessing in disguise to never see the sun. You won’t ever put yourself at risk of losing your sight.

Just imagine a young kid who has yet to receive dreams about the sun and he looks up in awe, wondering what that glowing orb resting in the sky is. Before that kid can experience the delights of human life, he is blinded by this thing that he has not yet been warned of. Tragic indeed. Something worth making a dream about so that you don’t have to live a debilitated life. You can see how we are here to help you—to make life easier.

We fabricate the dreams that you see. Some of those dreams are happy, beautiful, and colorful. Others are wistful, dark, and daunting. Some days, you wish for the pretty dreams, but unfortunately, you cannot control what dreams you see or when. Even though you see the dreams once your head rests upon the pillow and you fall asleep, you have no control. Dreaming is not like changing channels on the TV. You can’t pick and choose which dream you have when you sleep.

We decide how a dream will unfold and when you will see it. You are at our mercy. Sometimes, the thought of experiencing a dream conceived by a pessimist keeps you awake at night. You fight the temptation to fall asleep, but for some reason, you succumb to the forces, such as fatigue and boredom. We play with your mind by feeding stories that will shape your future. Your destiny is in our hands. We can choose whether you commit suicide tomorrow or marry the love of your life. We decide whether you live a life of luck, fortune, and happiness, or whether you are poor, lonely, and an alcoholic. You are a puppet and you do not even realize how little control you have. Our ability to control you is what keeps us sane as it gives us the opportunity to escape the monotony of life in this gloomy, cloudy world.

Now you’re probably wondering who ‘we’ are. ‘We’ dress in starched white lab coats. We direct your life from a computer screen. I cannot directly control your thoughts or feelings or bodily functions. During the daytime, I have no power over you. At night, I can get into your head. I can feed you dreams of opulence or poverty. I can show you a world that you’d be envious of or dread. And through those dreams, I can manipulate your thoughts, feelings, and decisions.

Your name is Aidan. I did not choose that name—your parents did. You see, people here can make their own choices. Perhaps your name was inspired by a dream that I gave your parents. That’s not what matters, however.

What matters is that regardless of your name, I share with you many of the same experiences and memories that I share with others. Your parents had some of the same dreams you have at this young age. Yes, we like to recycle some of the really good ones. Did you know that your best friend, who lives across the street, sometimes has the same dreams as you? I bet you never ask him about them though, because dreaming is...nothing special. It is expected—as simple and common as going to the bathroom, eating the same three meals a day, and going to university.

I hope you like the dreams that I give you, because I think some of them are special. They show you the world—the world you do not live in, but the world that surrounds you. Yes, Aidan, there is an entire world beyond our community.

In that world, you may find many of the things you dream about. But you should understand that here, you never have to worry. Here, you can experience everything beyond our walls without the heartache, pain, struggles, and turmoil that comes with in-person experiences. I am doing you a favor, so that your heart does not tug at you to leave this comfortable and easy life. Aidan, you do not want to act with your heart or emotions—you want to be logical. If you’re not logical, then you are irrational. If you are irrational, you make the wrong decisions. If you make the wrong decisions, you are on our radar. And if you are on our radar, most likely, you will not be living your life that much longer.

I am giving you everything you could want or imagine. All you have to do is trust me and go to sleep every night. If you do that, then I will reward you with happy dreams. I will reward you with love and wealth and all the foods made for mankind. Imagine being able to eat and taste all the riches and delicacies without having to gain a single pound. Imagine owning and living in the biggest mansion you can imagine without ever losing a dollar from your bank account. And these are only some of the extravagances that I can flower your life with.

All that said, it takes two to tango. Aidan, go to sleep each night and I will reward you to your heart’s content. I promise that rarely will I ever disappoint you. And if you are disappointed, then likely I am not the cause.

Now sleep.

What are you doing? you ask as you grasp the handlebars of your new green bike. Your knuckles are white, a stark contrast to the black tape that cushions your iron grip.

I’m removing the pedals, your dad comments. He turns a wrench around a bolt holding the pedals to the bike frame.

Why? you prod nervously.

Because it’s going to help you learn how to ride a bike. Your dad finishes removing the pedals and puts them on the curb. He looks down at you, casting a dark shadow over your little frame.

How? I thought I have to pedal to make the bike move.

Your dad smiles and then crouches besides you. Once on eye-level, you feel a little more secure about your dad’s crazy lesson.

You are going to sit on the bike and hold onto the handlebars as if you are riding. Instead of putting your feet on pedals, you’re going to kick off the ground to push yourself forward. Once you are moving, just lift your feet off the ground so that you can glide. The key is to find balance. You can always put your feet back down if you don’t feel safe.

Your lower lip trembles and you feel as if your body is shaking uncontrollably. Your dad can tell you are nervous because he wraps you in a bearhug. You can smell sweat mixed with baby powder on his clothes. It has always been a comforting scent to you.

You’re going to be okay, your dad says as he pulls away. And besides, I am going to be next to you the entire time.

Your dad stands and casts that mountainous shadow over you yet again. You see his head nod in the shadow. That is your cue to get on the bike. Sitting on the plush seat, gripping the handlebars, you feel incredibly off balance. You start walking, the bike wobbling beneath you with each step. Your dad walks beside you, his shadow following and protecting you along the way.

Good! your dad compliments you. It’s going to feel shaky at first, but the longer you do this, the more it’ll feel natural.

Dad? you ask. Your handlebars jolt left to right and you catch your breath in your throat from fear.

Focus.

Dad, you repeat, and this time your handlebars are steadier. How did you bike hundreds of miles up and down mountains when you were younger?

Your dad laughs. I had a lot of practice and it takes time. I never raced.

Were you ever scared?

All the time, your dad sighs. Especially when going downhill. Some roads are very steep and it can be very windy on these mountains. It feels like the bike is going to be swiped out from beneath you.

You gasp. What did you do?

I went really slow, and I would stop often. There is no race.

But I wanna go fast, you complain. You are already getting the hang of walking on your bike and it is getting boring to you.

Speed will come with time and practice. You need to be patient.

You grunt and keep walking in a straight line. Your dad can tell that you are bored with this exercise because he says, Now you can try running a little—but slowly.

Your dad gives a little push to your lower back. It makes you a little more wobbly but then you re-balance yourself, take a deep breath, and move your legs faster.

Immediately, you are shaking again, as if everything you just did is thrown out the window. Your dad speed walks beside you, watching and giving you words of encouragement. His shadow is always looming overhead.

At last, you reach the end of the street, which never felt this long before. Your dad tells you to turn around, to run, and then to lift your legs up as soon as you feel like you have enough speed.

You do just that.

Determined, you crouch over the handlebars, pump your legs as if you are running after a dog, and then lift. And oh my god, it feels amazing. It’s almost as if you are flying. No part of your body is in contact with the ground. Merely a thin aluminum frame holds your body in a vertical position, coasting above the pavement. The notion of riding a bike seems to defy all laws of gravity.

The air rushes through the slits in your helmet. You smile as you holler. It reminds you of being on a rollercoaster, even though you have never been on one. Your dad laughs and cheers alongside you. You pull your knees up closer to your chest so that you rest your feet on the upper bar of your bicycle frame. You are gliding in a straight line. You did it!

Sooner than you would like, your speed dies down and you are wobbling again.

Put your feet down and keep pushing! your dad yells out, sensing your concern.

You immediately lower your feet from the bar, causing your bike to keen precariously back and forth. Fear seizes your heart and you panic. But then your feet meet the asphalt and you push off. You feel stabilized once again. You are flying. You are safe.

You continue this exercise for what feels like a lifetime. Time slows. The good thing is that you never fall or injure yourself. Your blood is rushing with the excitement of this feat. You feel elated, happy, high.

You share this special moment with your dad, who never ceases to run alongside you. It does not surprise you that he so effortlessly keeps up with your pace and constant back and forth down the street. Your dad is ecstatic. You have not seen him grin this big since he got a promotion at work. You are happy and your dad is happy.

If only your mom could be here to see you fly. She would be proud. She told your dad to always watch out for you, to give you the experiences in life that she would never be able to share with you. He promised to her that he would do everything to give you happiness. And he has.

The only thing he has failed to do is bring your mom back. But that would require magic, wouldn’t it? And magic does not exist. Continue to defy gravity as you fly on the bike and that is the closest you will get to magic. No matter how happy you are to fly with your dad, you will never be completely happy because your mom is gone.

Bzz. Bzz. Silence. Bzz. Bzz.

You slam your palm into the phone on your bedside table, hoping to hit the snooze button. Unfortunately, you miss.

Bzz. Bzz. Silence. Bzz. Bzz.

You groan. Your eyes open slightly. Your room is a blur, but you know where your phone is and you know where the buttons are. You press all over the screen until the phone silences. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. It is starting to become clearer. You rub your eyes and then you can make out the ceiling fan that is frozen in place above your bed. You can’t remember when last you used the fan. It seems to have no utility, considering the fact that the temperature is always the same here.

Your eyes move down from the ceiling and towards the window and desk opposite your bed. The sky appears overcast. It’s a dull gray, quite like the gray you saw yesterday and the day before. No surprise there. You rub your eyes again and sit up.

Another dream, another day. You unlock your phone and are immediately prompted with a message from us.

Rate your dream! it says. You cannot dismiss the message. You have no choice but to click the button indicating OK!

The application opens up with a brief synopsis of the dream you just saw. You are prompted to rate it on a scale of one to ten. You must also answer a few questions about what you remember and how the dream made you feel.

Like a robot, you mechanically write, I remember the smell of sweat and baby powder. Wind rushing through my hair. Feeling like I am flying. Off balance.

In the next textbox, you write about how you felt. Happy, elated. But sad when remembering my mom.

You give the dream an overall eight as a score. Without looking over your responses, you click SUBMIT. Only then are you able to access the home screen on your phone. You see some texts from your friend, Max, across the street but you don’t bother to respond. You’ll see him in a few minutes when you bike to school together.

Instinctively, you pull up your photo album app and scroll to some of oldest photos. You scroll past the goofy selfies you and your best friend took, past the pictures of food you ate at local restaurants, past the fish you so triumphantly caught in the community lake. You scroll way back in time to pictures of your parents shortly after they married.

Your fingers hover over your mom’s face, reluctant to swipe to the next picture. In this one picture, she is smiling at the camera, eyes aglow with health and happiness. She is sitting on a log in a forest, wearing a red tank top and cargo pants. Her hair is cropped around her face, but a breeze is picking up some of the bangs that float along her eyebrows. She is holding a long loaf of bread in the air with one hand and a pocket knife with the other.

You do not remember experiencing the story behind this picture. Perhaps you were too young. Perhaps you were not born yet. But your dad has told you about this time.

Back in the day, people were permitted to take vacations outside of the community. Over recent years, restrictions have been imposed and only select few are allowed to leave. It boils down to what job you have and where you rank amongst others. But that does not matter to you. The point is, when vacations were the norm, your parents went to a mountain range far away. They hiked through glaciers and fields of grasses, high up in the clouds. Your dad described the air as being thin and icy with every breath. It had taken a while for both of them to get acclimated to the change in environment.

Up in the mountains, they would hike for an entire day to a cottage nestled in a valley, below a glacier and beside a glacial lake. Cottages were speckled throughout the mountains, along a designated hiking route. Each cottage was owned and operated, usually, by a couple. They fed the hikers who came through and gave them a bed to sleep on before hitting the trail again in the morning.

Several days in, your mom and dad had run out of their own supply of food. Before leaving one of the cottages, the host had asked your parents what their plan was for the day. When you dad described the next destination, the host noted that it would be a long hike and that they would need ample food. At that, your mom commented that your dad had eaten through all of their bread, sausage, and cheese. The host was appalled. He forced your parents, against your mom’s rebuffs, to take a loaf of bread (which was hard as a result of being over a day old) and some leftover cheese. He then sent them on their way.

And so this picture you are stuck on is a picture of happiness and kindness. If you had to describe the feelings you get from this picture, you would describe the feelings as those of warmth and care. A complete stranger gifted your parents with the simplest thing—sustenance. Your mom’s gratitude was clearly demonstrated in this picture. The picture seeps with only positive feelings and it makes you smile. That is why you always come back to this picture.

In this picture, you also see a mother who you did not know. Because she died when you were too young to remember, you only have the dreams I give you and the pictures on your phone to paint a picture of who your mom was. I hope the dreams mirror the pictures, because I don’t actually know if your mother was a nice person. I don’t know what she looked like or whether she was always smiling. I don’t know if she had arguments with your dad or whether she baked cookies for you after school. Although I don’t know who your mother was, I can compose dreams about the perfect mother—your perfect mother. 

You quickly swipe through a few more pictures, noting the time at the top of your screen. You are going to be late. You force yourself to fling the phone onto the bed. You amble to your closet, grab a plain white t-shirt and dark jeans. Nondescript clothing, just as you like it.

Once dressed, you make your way into the bathroom. You flip the light switch, so that the lights cast an unearthly glow where your cheeks are chiseled and hollowed. Your full lips are slightly parted as you muss your hair to stand atop your head in its usual messy mop. There is no change to your appearance—not even with the clothes that you put on. It’s another day, just like every other. You look the same, dress the same, and follow the same routine.

You know your dad is already out of the house, at work. You know Max will be waiting for you in the street. You know you will grab your old bike from the garage and zip through the streets to the university. You know what classes are going to take place today and who is going to sit next to you in each. You probably will cover new subjects in class and you will have different conversations just with the same people. You know what you are going to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I’m not sorry to say this—you live a life of monotony, like everyone else in this community. You don’t complain, and neither do the others. You don’t have a desire to experience something different or to break your routine. You find comfort in repetition and excitement in not knowing what dreams will grace the backs of your eyelids at night. Aidan, you can escape boredom and routine by falling asleep each night.

After your trip to the bathroom, you find yourself