The Dreams of Ambrose Killian, a fantasy drama by Sheldon Shacket

Nineteen year-old Ambrose Killian wanted a girlfriend in the worst way, and that's pretty much what he got. His new girlfriend was a real dream, or maybe a nightmare or even maybe much worse. In a day when having an imaginary mate is becoming popular, Ambrose's girlfriend turned out to be more than he imagined possible. Here's an excerpt:

Lisa saw Ambrose sitting in the car and her face lit up. She pedaled closer and stopped by the Camaro's open window, "Ambrose — everybody's been looking for you."
He replied, "Why don't you stay out of my fuckin' life? Who asked you to mess with my affairs?"
She replied in a measured voice, "I just wanted to help."
"Fuck your help."
Lisa looked off, but turned back with bulldog tenacity — refusing to go away, "I want to help..."
"Because — you're not well."
"I was well...just fine...before you started fucking with my life."
"You're is my fault."
Ambrose stared at her blankly— not understanding.
She said, "It was my fault that you got involved with 'Dreamastery.'"
Ambrose replied, "I know you were the one that recommended it to my mother. But, Why?"
She said, "I thought it would help you — Dr. Flanigan was my idol."
He gave her a dirty look, "You know what I think of 'Dreamastery'?"
She looked but didn't answer.
"It's a bunch of fucked-up old broads — and misfits like you that can't accept life the way it is."
"Ambrose please," she said tearfully, "I feel so bad. So bad — that I was the one that got you involved with it."
"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"
He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, "Fuck 'Dreamastery'!' It's a bunch of bullshit! I got my own problems — I don't gotta dream up new ones! I'm in love with some weird chick who's got this 'thing' about people — she's fucked up — but she likes me, okay? We're the same type — we're in love. Don't you understand that? She's gorgeous — she's mine and she loves me."
He stared at her vindictively, "Now what do have to say about that? You feel rejected? I don't care about you. You're a fat slob — I wouldn't touch you with someone else's dick. Go away! — Do you understand me, you fuckin' moron? Leave me alone!"
Lisa was shaken badly but took a breath to recover and said, softly, "Emily isn't real!"
He shrugged it off, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Emily doesn't exist! She's a figment of your imagination."
He yelled back, "Are you fuckin' crazy?"
She said, calmly, " are."
Ambrose looked around — he suddenly doubted himself. It came slowly — then it crept up his neck — making the hairs bristle. "I don't believe you."
She pleaded, "Please believe me — she's a runaway 'Dreamastery' hallucination!"
The doubt within Ambrose had now started to gain steam — Ambrose blinked — trying to remember — to think — put together the pieces as the locomotive that rumbled toward him in the distance was still only a speck on the horizon.
Lisa burst into tears, "It's your 'Dreamastery' module — gone amuck!"
She grabbed his hand, "You're stuck in the 'Higher Land.'"
Ambrose stared at her as the jigsaw pieces slowly crawled together and assembled a marching band in his head.
Lisa screamed through her tears, "There was nobody there with you at that fucking dinner!"
The raging bull of Ambrose's anxiety had now shown its angry head as it tore through the barriers of his mind.
She wept, "It was your imagination — you need help!"
The bull had rampaged — on its searing horns — the dilemma — the irrefutable truth. The conflict, coming to a head — Ambrose looked around and appeared clammy — looked sick — his eyes rolled...and then convulsions. Mercifully he collapsed in the seat of Camaro which had changed from a chariot back into a pumpkin. The dream had come to an end...the train had arrived and beckoned him to come aboard.