A Nightmare.

      The girl stepped out of the shack, clad in a long, white nightdress. She stepped onto the cobbleston path leading only to another house. It was dead silent. A large, stone fountain that no longer worked cast a dreadful shadow in the dimly lit path. No stars were out. The only light came from a single, yellowish lamp to the left of the door of the single house ahead of her. The girl didn’t seem to be scared at all, only careful. She was pale – practically colorless – and with light hair that floated down to the middle of her back and pale eyes. When she was near the house, a young man stepped out of the door and put one foot on the porch step. He reached out his hand to help the girl up the stairs and to welcome her.

       From another angle, another woman watched the girl through binoculars. She saw the girl cautiously move down the stone walk. When the young man emerged from the house to greet her, she felt her neck grow hot. She knew this man. Unfortunately for her, all romantic possibilities with him had been torn from her future. She continued to observe the man; he was certainly pleasant to look at – tall, composed, clean shaven, brown hair, dark eyes, also pale. His clothes were simple and near colorless, too. If only the old fountain wasn’t blocking some of her view.

       Everything’s strange, she thought, crouching in the dark above the dreary scene: a path leading from a doorstep of one house directly to another house’s doorstep; there were no side paths branching off of it. What was the point of that? 

       The pale girl smiled gently and took the man’s hand as she floated up the steps, following his lead. He had let go and turned around, no longer welcoming. He went through the door first and reached for something beside the door frame on the inside. The house was peculiar. The first room that you walked into was lined in books on shelves from floor to ceiling. The books were old and dusty. Some were on the floor, bent and lying open. Directly ahead of her, perfectly aligned with the front entrance, was another doorway. This one had no door. She could see through it to another room, also lined entirely with books. Only this one was lit – by candles, maybe. The same yellowish light poured from the room. The doorway was as far to her left on the opposite wall as possible. She could see room after room, all identical, with books and either dark or dimly lit, the doorway in the exact same place on the wall, no doors…

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Solipsism

sol·ip·sism   [sol-ip-siz-uhm]

–noun 

1. Philosophythe theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist.

 

 

Solipsism syndrome is a state of mind in which a person begins to feel that everything is a dream and, therefore, is not real.

Solipsism is a philosophical theory that all activity takes place within the mind, and therefore there is no reality outside one’s own mind. As a philosophical theory it is interesting because it is said to be internally consistent and, therefore, cannot be disproven. But as a psychological state, it is highly uncomfortable. The whole of life becomes a long dream from which an individual can never wake up. Even friends are not real, they are a part of the dream and are his own fantasies. A person may feel very lonely and detached, and eventually becomes apathetic and indifferent.

Some environments are conducive to producing solipsism syndrome. This state of mind can be easily produced in an environment where everything is artificial, where everything is like a theatre stage, where every wish can be fulfilled by a push-button, and where there is nothing beyond the theater stage and beyond an individual’s control.

 

 

 

 

(information from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism_syndrome)