The Nightmare

Act 1: Scene 1:

We stare at each other for a while. Anger flickers in the eyes for a moment longer like gas in the pipes when the stove has been turned off. I look away. The eerie green tinged darkness engulfing me, the smell of rusted metal. I feel sick.
I am hurt and I’m guilty. The clashing amalgamation of the two feelings is making me sick in the stomach.
God, this can’t be happening.
I keep standing there in a state of shock. I didn’t expect this and I’m not accepting this. The whole situation was absurd. Impossible. Yet it happened. Cruel and cutting words were thrown across each other’s face. Blaming. Finger-pointing. The essence of deceit lingering around the dark corridors.
The storm lasted for only a few minutes but the aftermath is still here. The tension prevails. I cannot possibly believe that a person as considerate as him, would say such a thing, but now that he did, I feel even more disgusted. Hurt.
Why was I so wrong about him?
Maybe it’s just a reaction, nothing much.
Maybe this is who he really is.
Maybe…
- - -

Act 1: Scene 2:

I am lost in my thoughts going from one room to another, wondering about us, when I realize he’s walking beside me in these dingy corridors.
Why is he doing this?
We enter a small computer lab. I feel the same gloom here. Dirty green lighting. The near to death mummer of people. The rusted smell. The humidity. I’ve never been here and yet it seems very familiar. We’re some 6 ft underground.
I would like some air.
But, he’s here – still, with me. I feel hope.
Now, that is funny, because I am trying to hate him for every word that hurt me, for every act of betrayal and here I am feeling calm and hopeful at the very thought of him standing beside me!
But, is he really…?
I am not sure if everything is alright, so I ask him casually.
“Does the net work on these computers?”
My words fracture the quite between us and at the same time are lost in the on-going murmur.
It seems like he did not listen, but then very slowly he comes towards me. He stands very close, lifts his eyes and looks at me straight in the face.
What is he going to say!
My heart skips a beat.
He says, “Why are you asking?”
What he means is why do I care. He is right. My question is pointless. It was just a stupid effort of small talk.
So, I just mumble “Oh, never mind!” and turn away.
I could say “Let’s talk.”
I should say, “Because I care.”
But I realize, this would stretch and I am too tired for any argument. The idea of my little effort being rejected pulls me away from him, towards the door and out of it.
I need air.
I look back, holding the door ajar and a sudden realization grips me. The irony of our positions speaks for itself – he is standing inside the room and I am outside. The door defines our boundaries, our existences in two different planes. I see his look – that droopy face.
“Are you coming?”
He does not answer, but his look means he does not intend to budge from that place. He seems to be in some kind of trance, like a person approaching death and denying anything that life has to offer. It seems as if it just dawned upon him that letting me go is the best possible option, no matter how much it would hurt him, no matter how much it will hurt me.
Alright, so be it.
I close the door. That heavy, dark, grey, solid door, separating our planes forever.
- - -

Act 2: Scene 1:

It looks like as if I have not actually given him up, I start worrying about him.
Is he dead?
He must be, because I am looking around for him in this parallel world. I am walking on an even darker, dirtier road of death, with zombies lying around here and there. A groan here, a blank look there.
Is this hell?
Why am I looking for him here?
I have no idea. I am asking myself questions. And my eyes keep moving, looking around for him among the dark rubble and zombies. I keep walking on this road, my eyes wandering from one face to another. I cannot find him!
He has got to be here.
I have to help him.
I have to get him out of here!
My search continues …