Blue Dream

By Keith Gillum

Sometimes you have to dive deep to find God. Hope you can swim...

Dom has been living in digital paradise for as long as he can remember. He's lucky enough to be one of the gogglers of the Trop. However, having all that he can imagine has been less than blissful. He thinks too much, consumes too little, and it's stressing out his manager.

Everything changes one night when a dream swims his way, and he finds a mysterious symbol. Soon he is sliding into a new reality and following a way he knows little about. His decision to go deeper brings him face to face with the scariest depths of the program. The ensuing battle will require him to wear the full armor of God.

 

BLUE DREAM. Find faith in the static.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Dream Publications
• Release date: May 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224358816

Keith Gillum

Keith Gillum grew up on a horse farm and spent a whole summer working as a bucket boy at Saratoga Race Course. He spent his youth playing Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh and reading R.A. Salvatore novels. A former pothead and recovering PC addict, he still sometimes suffers from a mild form of psychosis. Blue Dream is his first novel. The story is based loosely on his life and exploring the connection between a dream and nightmare he experienced. He gave his heart to the Lord at age 26 on Boggy Peak, the highest point on the island of Antigua. To support Keith's work and help get the word out, consider writing a Goodreads review and/or leaving a review wherever you acquired this eBook from.

Book preview

1

Y our levels are trash , Dominic. Absolute trash. 

Dom sits in the same spot he always does, on a comfortable chair with his goggles on.

You might have the most thinking time in all the Trop. I have the data here in front of me to prove it.

Does that make me special, Halmarc? I always wanted to be special.

In a way, Dom is special. He’s not as ugly as most. He’s lucky enough to have symmetry and a lack of it where it matters. He leans back into the seat with his broad shoulders. They taper like a v into his tiny waist. Warrior locks of hair frame his chiseled face.

You’re special, alright, Halmarc continues, the kind that are drooling in New Bethesda. In fact, what the hell are you even doing here? You’re a complete outlier.

Halmarc sits in his own apartment. He has everything he needs to know about Dom charted-out on his sweatered belly. He talks to himself as he swipes through the data displayed on the imaginary tablet nestled there. Of course, it isn’t imaginary, it’s there, but not to the naked eye. It’s there in Halmarc’s goggles. Everything is in the goggles. 

This father of yours, you spend a great deal of time thinking about him. Is there a memory in particular?

He’s familiar with Dom’s memory. He has access to all of it. He shouldn’t have to ask, but he does anyway because it’s a vital part of therapy.

Sure. The races. I think about them often.

Often?

Halmarc chuckles.

How ‘bout every day? Ah, here it is. Let’s take a look.

Dom shrugs as Halmarc readies himself, putting on a matching hat and raincoat. 

Only a second ago they were sitting in Halmarc’s office. Now they are riding in an old car. Dom’s Dad is at the wheel. Halmarc crams into the backseat, scrutinizing every detail.

Imagine, we used to drive these big scraps of metal. What a waste of space. Hmph. What a waste of energy.

I don’t know, says Dom, I think it’s sort of neat.

Neat, Halmarc echoes. He rolls his bulging eyes and grins.

And where is your father taking us? Lemme guess, to buy an ice cream cone.

As he slams on the brakes, Halmarc yells, shit!

Another rusty car nearly hits them as it swings in from a side road. The young men driving are oblivious to the crash they’ve nearly caused.

Dom’s dad shakes his head. He wants to cuss so badly. They see him struggling to keep the words down. He punches the horn. 

Lord, give me patience, he says.

Is he talking to God? Really? What a joke, Halmarc says.

He pokes Dom’s Dad on the shoulder playfully, but the poke doesn’t register. No matter how real the memory, all that remains is his virtual ghost.

Uh, excuse me sir. If only you knew you were talking to yourself?

He looks at Dom excitedly. Dom doesn’t share his enthusiasm.

What?

Nothing, says Dom.

Halmarc wears a frown as Dom’s Dad puts the car in park. The young men in the other car don’t see him coming. They sing along to a pop song until he yanks them out.

Hey! What gives?

The driver protests with the F-word. His passenger does too. They play dumb. They’re old enough to have been educated at university. Still, every other word is a self-destructing F-bomb.

Halmarc cackles and claps.

You little punks, the man tells them.

He’s not big, but he has a powerful voice. When raised it can be effective. He backs them up using it until their backs are against the wall. They hold their arms out in front of them, afraid of possibly getting punched.

Look, says Halmarc pointing. Look! That’s you!

A little boy stands innocently watching the situation unfold.

Yeah, Dom agrees. It was, anyway...

Get your hands off me old man, says the larger of the two.

You nearly hit me and my son. You need to watch where you are going.

Dom’s Dad speaks the words through clenched teeth. He shakes a fist.

Nice example you’re setting for your kid.

Says the guy with the dirty mouth.

Dom’s Dad gives him a slap. 

You unrighteous punks! You’re what’s wrong with society, you and your reprobate minds.

His small frame trembles with every accusation he rails against them. 

This world is cursed. Cursed! You godless bastards, look around you.

Glassy eyed, he peers around under his low hanging fedora. The area is so very fallen from the days of his youth.

You’re mad.

He is! Halmarc giggles. He leans over to Dom.

No wonder you remember him. How could you not?

The boy turns around. Dom looks at his younger self with his hands in his armpits. Back to his father. Not only are his eyes glassy, they are tired from overwork. However, beneath the dullness of their lenses, an unmistakable light is shining within.

It must be that light that keeps me coming back, Dom thinks. 

You punks, Dom’s Dad tells the young men. Dom! Get your hands out of your armpits and get in the car!

The boy sprints inside.

This is why I love this job, says Halmarc. It’s so entertaining!

He jiggles with glee as he fast-forwards through the rest of the memory. Now they’re standing beside a railing watching robot horses finish a race. Their hooves thunder on the ground as the leader wins by a nose. 

It gets me every time seeing people do this, Halmarc says, driving in the car to go do some activity. How laughable. And look at the conflicts that arise.

Dom shrugs again in his casually cool way.

So what? They’re living, he says.

Grmph. You really are strange.

Halmarc frowns and adds a couple more notes to his tablet.

Did you see that number six bot, Dommy? He really turned it on at the end.

His Dad whistles. Dom is smiling, cheering alongside him.

What a beautiful day to be alive, his father says.

He’s looking up, he’s got the sun on his face. It felt good to him then.

But what about those men, Daddy? Those men you pushed around.

What about ‘em? Forget ‘em.

He taps his heart.

They’re sick.

What do you mean?

Little Dom is curious. He wants to know how. His dad looks at him and starts to say something but then the memory loses sound. They can see his dad explaining but his words have no audio. 

Little Dom nods his head. He understands. The real Dom doesn’t.

What’s he saying to me?

Halmarc is sweating.

No clue, he says.

He fidgets with the tablet. Finally, the scene is back to normal.

In this life, you have to be the duck, his father says. You know what a duck is?

No.

It was an animal, y’know - bones, flesh, and blood.

Really?

Really. Me and my father used to feed them pieces of bread at the park. They made a sound like this.

He curls his hand around pursed lips to make a series of funny noises. Dom laughs. A middle-aged couple nearby among the fans laugh too.

I remember that sound, says one of the two with poofy blonde hair. Is that a duck?

You got it, lady.

He leans in close to Dom, lowering his voice to tell a secret. As he does, a silver cross necklace slips out from under his shirt. It spins slowly, dangling from his neck in the gray hollow light.

Want to know one of the coolest facts about the duck?

Dom nods his head eagerly.

Because of their oily feathers, stuff would slide right off ‘em. Well, mostly water. Dirty water. It’s dirty now-a-days.

He readjusts his fedora and slips the cross back under his shirt.

That’s the key to life, Dom - you must be the duck. Just let the crap slide right off ya. Do you think you can be the duck?

I think so.

Good kid.

Halmarc pretends to wipe away a tear.

Aw, how adorable.

That’s the spirit, Dom’s father tells his son. 

He pats him on the head and turns his attention back to the races. Viewing his father with his arm wrapped around his younger self, Dom is caught up inside a vision. A giant rubber ducky swims through thick darkness quacking. It squeaks as the young men who nearly crashed into them earlier catch a ride on its back. They’re having a hard time staying on. They soon slide off it. Dom can hear their screams as they drop out of sight and make a splash below.

Just let the crap slide right off ya, he hears his father say again.

The water must be there somewhere... Dom only sees inky black.

Enough of this sentimental nonsense.

Halmarc swipes it all away ejecting Dom from his vision. They’re back inside their own apartments, but through the goggles they’re connected, back in Halmarc’s office seated comfortably at his desk. 

It’s memories like these that prevent us from moving forward. It can be destructive to cling so tightly to the past.

It’s the only one I have left of my father. I’d hate to see it go.

Progression, Dom. Progression. I can say with certainty this is dragging on your levels.

Dom sighs. Halmarc’s probably right. But the memory doesn’t seem overly destructive. And that glow in his father’s eyes, it must be the spark of life. He hasn’t seen it in anybody else’s eyes, not living in the Trop. Not that metropolitans remove their goggles long enough to check. But he’s sure if he lined them all up, all the thousands of them together, if he looked them straight in the eye, individually, it would be difficult to find. 

I’d like to delete it.

Dom looks at Halmarc, hating that he’s said it.

I’d like your permission. With my clearance, you do know I could delete it without asking. But I like to be on the same page with my charges. Consider yourself lucky.

Halmarc can see Dom wrestling with the proposition in his head.

What do you say? Isn’t it time to move on? I know it’s a total shame your father is dead. It says here he didn’t make it.

Tell me something positive. Tell me something I don’t know, Dom requests.

I think it would bring you closure to let this memory go. I don’t even know how it’s possible you still have it in the first place. I’ll admit the mind can be a tough code to crack.

Halmarc moves to an ornately carved octopus. It’s the fixture of the room. Within its mass of tentacles is an elegant bar tray. Where the tentacle tips should be are bowls overflowing with pills. Halmarc licks his lips seeing them waiting there patiently. An amber colored petri dish quickly appears in his jittery hands. Selecting various pills methodically with a pair of golden tweezers, he says,

Come now, let’s dispossess you of this pain and lack of progress. Why don’t we celebrate?

Sure, says Dom lacklusterly. What are we celebrating? The death of my father? 

Stop! 

Halmarc scolds him.

Whenever Halmarc becomes cheerful like this, Dom thinks just maybe his case file manager (CFM) isn’t as bad as he stinks. He’s got a neon pill situated between his pink lips. He holds his finger on the icon of Dom’s memory mp4. A red delete symbol appears. Halmarc presses it immediately.

Done. Deleted.

Dom’s eyelids flutter as the memory is extracted and trashed. When he opens them again, he witnesses Halmarc swallowing the pill. He can see the glow of it sliding down through Halmarc’s throat - a neon glow-in-the-dark pill now entering his belly. In a moment, his belly’s too big to let it shine through his skin and clothes anymore.

How are you feeling? Do you want one?

He offers him the petri dish containing the smorgasbord of pills. Dom declines.

Not today.

Should I be worried about you still?

Of course not, Dom replies.

Good. I’m increasing your hours at the plant this week. Remember, you’re in the Trop. There’s no need to think.

Don’t think. Copy that. Anything else?

That’s it for now.

Halmarc swipes Dom away as Dom is thinking, don’t think.

Don’t think, Dom tells himself. He tries to drill it into his mind.

He’s transported out of the office and back into his own quarters. Despite the freed-up memory, as little as it is, Dom surrenders to the feeling that something has been stolen from him. He knows it’s something important, he just can’t remember what, and at the core of his being he wants whatever it was back.

2

Dom knows that he should be in bed, but instead he is at the river. Strange. He’s never seen one before. There are no rivers in the Trop. Regardless, this river’s color is turquoise and more like liquid crystal than water. It seems that way because when the rapids make a splash and droplets hit the bank, the droplets instantly harden and become bouncing bits. They accumulate on the grass near his sneakers at the foot of a plank. The plank extends across the river as the only bridge to the other side. Dom wonders how he can traverse such a treacherous river on a toothpick.

Faith, says a voice. He’s never heard from it before.

No kidding. Who’s the wise guy? 

He looks around. No answer, only the flowing of the river. He’s not so sure he heard the voice, not audibly that is, yet it’s like the voice is as much the owner of his thoughts as he is.

Are my goggles on? 

He checks for them, but he only feels his own face. And now there’s a peculiar man waving for him to step out and join him. He’s balancing on the middle of the plank holding a rod. The plank is so thin that the man’s shoes stick out on both sides of it. All it would take is for a small breeze to blow the man away. Not long after, he’d be nothing but food for the crystal. Dom calls out to him.

Hey! What are you doing, old man? Have you lost it?

The man removes his fedora and waves it wildly. It takes a certain kind of man to wear a hat like that one. The style of it dates him. He must come from another age. Suddenly, the man has something hooked. It’s taking all of his strength not to let go of the fishing pole. There’s something big on that line, Dom is sure of it. Look at how slow the man is reeling it in. As he reels, he shoots a puzzling look over to Dom. It seems to convey, why aren’t you helping me? It strikes Dom as familiar and also makes him feel inadequate.

He needs me, Dom thinks, he does. Stupid plank.

It’s shaking all over the place and so is the guy. It’s a miracle he hasn’t slipped and fallen to his doom. Dom attempts to stabilize the plank and then tiptoe onto it, but the plank quickly turns on its side. Dom curses.

The old man is struggling but he hasn’t lost the fight. He shoots another puzzling look over to Dom. Dom throws up his hands.

What do you want me to do, you crazy old bat?

He’s losing his grip, sticking out his tongue in concentration. Out of sheer annoyance, if anything, Dom leaps a leap of faith. As soon as he lands, oddly enough, the plank decides to cooperate. And now it’s just him and the man standing side by side over the river. Dom doesn’t recall stepping to him.

Take this my son, he says.

He stuffs the pole into Dom’s hands.

My son? I don’t even know you.

Sure, you do. Now reel. Reel with everything you’ve got.

He does as the man says and in a couple of rotations, the fish is on the plank and its gills are in a panic.

What a catch, my boy! Biggest fish I’ve ever seen, he says. 

He grabs the fish by the tail and tosses it into a bucket on shore. It’s too small for such a catch, yet it opens its brim wider and allows the girth of the fish to enter.

Dom can’t help but laugh. The man tossed that fish with ease. It must be three hundred pounds. 

He can toss the fish that far, but he can’t reel it in himself? Why did he need me and what’s with this setting? 

Dom opens his mouth to ask, but the old man casts into the crystal. As soon as the hook disappears, he has another bite. This time the old man is red in the face. He turns to Dom, trembling.

Here. You give it a try.

Dom takes the fishing pole in his hands and reels like before.

Reel, my son! Reel with everything you’ve got!

It takes a couple more rotations than it took to reel in the first, but the second fish suffers the same exact fate. It finds itself gasping for air on the plank. The plank bends comically under the load.

What a catch m’boy! My God, what a catch! Biggest fish I’ve ever seen. 

He tosses it into the bucket. 

It’s just an ordinary bucket, Dom thinks. How can it hold such monstrous fish?

Either Dom has been shrinking or the old man is growing taller. Their fellowship is so natural, but the underlying reason doesn’t compute. It’s on the edge of his memory, hovering slightly out of reach.

Take over, my son!

He’s already casted. He’s hooked another fish. He’s thrusted the pole into Dom’s hands. The weight is otherworldly. 

Reel!

Holy crap, Dom thinks. This... is... my father...

He is terrified it’s taken him so long to remember.

How have I not known?

Dom is straining, keeping the rod as elevated as he can.

Reel it in-

Dom interrupts him.

Let me guess - with everything I’ve got!

Bingo! 

The old man, his father, is jumping up and down excitedly. He’s hollering so much that he is shaking them on the plank. 

Quit moving around!

Dom is shrouded in silence like the day at the races. The river is rushing, the fish is thrashing, but he doesn’t hear a peep. The old man is crouching, pointing joyously to where the line meets the crystal. He’s smiling so wide that his joy is infectious.

Dom laughs with him finding it easier to reel. At last, the gigantic fish that he’s been reeling breeches. To Dom it’s a massive shadow, shading him and his father below. It lands on them and the plank, snapping the bridge in two. Dom dreads the crystal. Nobody wants to be shredded. But he thinks it a good consolation that he’s died having fun.

Luckily, the next moment Dom is sprawled out on the fish. Instead of dead, he’s on the scales of its belly dripping wet. The river has come to a stop and the thing has X’s for eyes. Being dazed in a stupor, it floats on its side. Dom coughs up crystal shards as his father burps him like a baby. He can’t hear what he’s saying. He only catches glimpses of his moving lips. He sure would like to, based on the tears of happiness streaming down his face. He takes the fish by the tail