A Burning Dream

Mike was sitting at Starbucks, swaying to smooth jazz, peacefully sipping his coffee and staring at the screen of his Mac. The rhythm of other writers tap-tapping away on their keyboards, the hissing of espresso machine, whispering of students huddled over a laptop, it was his perfect nook. He was skimming through messages and checking social media for anything of importance. Interacting with editors, readers, and social media followers was a part of his daily routine. A professional writer is pretty much obscure. Long bizarre days when working under a deadline. Battling to preserve their sanity. Between editing, writing new material, and researching, it isn’t always easy and romantic. It is emotionally draining. Writing is a tedious work and it includes coffee, lots of coffee.

                               He was writing a review when an email popped up in notifications. It was from a major publisher who was embroiled in a bidding war for printing his book and buying movie rights. He couldn’t believe his luck. The book he’d poured so much of himself into, labored over for a year, would be now out in the wide world. His work would be valued and recognized. He went through hell in the process. Somehow, he managed to power through. Every step along the way felt hard-earned. His face lit up like the setting sun streaks the sky with brilliant reds and golds. A smile appeared on his face. He looked around with the eyes of a calm child and felt a great sense of relief but also the validation that his persistence had paid off. He looked out of the window; snowflakes were tumbling from the sky kissing the pavements. It felt like the whole world was smiling at him and celebrating with him. It was the happiest moment of his life.

                              Later that night when he came back to his apartment, he pulled his ergonomic chair up to the mahogany desk and sat down with a cup of coffee to ink the pages before his brainwaves get scattered. His story was driven by motifs like libraries, time, dreams, and mirrors which are great fodder for a fantasy writer. He was peacefully enjoying some flashes of writing fervor when a horrific tune, “party all the time” started playing in Tina’s apartment next door. He heard loud thumping music mixed with muffled voices. She was absolutely a crazy person who believes in partying like it’s the end of the world. Mike knocked at Tina’s door. He knew she will call him old and boring Mike but before she could say anything, he asked

“Hey! Can I join in?”

 “You sure about that, oldie?”

 “Come on. I’m not that old. And I have every reason to party tonight.” 

“And what’s that?”

“My book is getting published.”

“Wait, what? For real?”, she asked almost jumping.

Mike just smiled and nodded.

She grabbed him by the arm and took him inside. She turned off the music, jumped on the sofa and started speaking,

“Listen! Listen, guys.”

Everyone turned towards her.

“So, you see my friend, old Mike here. He is getting his first book published and we are gonna celebrate his achievement. Let’s show him how to party. Yeah?”

“Hell yeah”, the crowd cheered.

Someone handed him a beer, “Congrats, man.”

Music started playing again and everyone around him was dancing and laughing. They were so young, lively, and carefree. It reminded him of his college days. He never missed a party. He was wild and crazy. A sweet nostalgic vibe filled the air. He laughed and danced like he was 21 again.

                               After an hour and a half, he left because he had a meeting with his agent in the morning. For over an hour he kept tossing and turning before he finally drifted into a soft slumber. Shortly after midnight, he heard someone knocking his door and shouting in the hallway. It must be the party group, he thought and closed his eyes. But the banging and thudding at his door continued. He got up angrily and went to the door. “Its 4 in the morning, for god’s sake.” The air felt heavier in the lounge. He started coughing and having difficulty breathing. He opened the door and the whole hallway was filled with smoke and cries for help. It was difficult to see clearly. Somehow, he managed to find the stairs and ran out of the building. An explosion in the apartment right above Mike’s started the fire. Firefighters went door to door to make sure everyone evacuated the building. The fire took at least an hour to put out. But an hour was enough for the fire to engulf Mike’s apartment and burn all his writings.

                              He watched his apartment turning into a mass of billowing smoke and flames through tear-streaked eyes. His empty heart was standing against the sky. A terror seized him and took him so high up in its talons that he was helplessly looking down at the brutal reality and smothered dreams. Everything he worked for crumbled to dust. A raging fire devoured his veins and burned from the inside out. The welling in his eyes as if Niagra Falls was on the brink. Broken dreams, a heavy heart, and a life that doesn’t seem much like life anymore. He was sinking into the deep holes of inexplicable sadness, apathy, and acedia. He cried because there comes a time when the only thing left for you is to cry. The mental agony and anguish both made it impossible for him to cling on to hope. Hope felt like a shard of glass ripping through his heart. He lost hope in hope.