Writers Digest » Places

         Intro to Harlen's existence [He will not remember when he wakes up]:

Every story starts out with an idea... Every character starts off as a thought. I watched over her shoulder for many months, her mulling over her notes, outlines of her new story, shuffling through papers. I was merely a cloud, undefined body, gender... I was a thought bubble to be exact. After months of touring, she finally started her new novel, and I slowly became real. She pictured me, dark, mysterious, so I began tall, trench coat and all. At first, she was hesitant if I were male or female, so she kept that at bay. I was merely a speck on the wall.

Then things started to hurt at night as she continued to write, my flesh bubbled out as she began to describe me, eyes shaded over many different times as she rearranged the color of my hair and eyes, trying to find the perfect medium. I cried out as she gave me life, a personality, shoes to walk in, a deep voice to talk with.... Until I became fully real...

Harlen awoke in his apartment, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, "Strangest of dreams..." He mutters, slicking back his hair with one hand and looking out the window to the city of Chicago. It was sunny today, the light radiates off the buildings, pouring into his window. He gives a small half smile and cracks his neck, back and knuckles then stands out of bed. Making his way to the kitchen, he pours himself a shot of whiskey and shoots it down, licking his lips and checking the time.

9:15 AM.

He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and hears ruckus from upstairs, the neighbors must be fighting again... He rolls his eyes and makes his way to the shower.

He undresses and hops in, the dream replays in his head, constantly going back to the pain he had felt, now a mere memory sting. He finishes and steps out of the shower, drying off and putting a towel around his waist, making his way to his closet and picking out his clothes -- a dark black t-shirt, jeans, black combat boots and a trench coat. He grabs his keys and his hat off the rack and steps out.

"Good morning, Mr. Harlen." One of the girls from his apartment floor giggles, she was sporting a small red cocktail type dress with big white flowers.

He flashes a smirk towards her, "Good day, Miss. Weathersby." He says, his voice low and smooth, "You look lovely today."

She giggles, "Well thank you, Mr. Harlen." She nods to him, her long blonde hair falling in her blushed cheeks.

He tips his hat towards her and continues his walk, "Have a good day, Miss. Weathersby."