A story I wrote also in the middle of the night, inspired by a lot of different things. I have only recently gotten into short story writing, and I have come back from a LONG break of writing. Please rate and review. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated.:) Thanks so much.
January 6th, 2056.
Isn’t it funny how you just wake up in the morning and never even realize how it is that one moment you’re fighting intensely in a dream, and the next fighting to get yourself ready for work? It’s always the same, day in day out. The aggravating thing is, you can never really remember these dreams. Of course, there’s those ones which you strictly remember some bits - like the victory of winning that ever so unreachable goal...or free-falling straight out of the sky onto something soft and cushiony like your own bed. Yes, I get that all the time. And it’s funny how I woke up this one morning and did remember the last night’s particular dream, because it was all too familiar in mind. And it is interesting, because it was not at all like a normal dream; but one in which I felt as if I was actually part of. It felt like I was awaking from one life into the next, and it unnerved me because just at that split second in which I saw what would happen - I wake up.
So, one minute I’m at work, answering calls from Ted as usual. One blink - and all of a sudden I am sitting in a large black chair, swinging myself around on the swivel while gazing out through the huge windows. Andrew’s voice fades in the background while I drop the phone onto the receiver, and take in this new world. Okay, so new isn’t that great a word to put it. It was exactly the same place I worked, and I was looking out at exactly the same world I was living in. Only I was sitting in the director’s chair, and was now smartly dressed in a business suit. Kudos to me.
Only the world I know was not the world that was projected in my dream. It seemed different somehow. Like the colours in the sky - do they really have shades of green in them, or was that just my eyes playing tricks on me? Was there really a shop down next to Sam’s Hair Studio (the place I always go to cut my hair, mind you) - that sold fake plastic flowers? Did the road really have a crack near the left side of the pavement near the traffic lights - or was that just my imagination? All these details, all these minute little things you never really take note of - I mentally projected, and I could see every line on the pavement, every hair on my arm, every fibre on everyone’s clothes. It truly was a surreal experience. And I began to realize just how much the world was made up of these tiny units, which make up bigger units, which then eventually implode until your brain can’t handle anymore data.
As I was gazing out and marvelling at this world I had sublimely remembered down to the wire, I had an epiphany. All these details, all these small occurrences. I really felt like I was seeing everything in a different light, and that maybe, just maybe we were part of another world. That sometimes we act completely disconnected from our brain in society, and we just let our unconscious process all the unnecessary data. Nevertheless, it was like something from the heavens was shining down and enhancing every shadow and contrasting colour, every single place I had never ever focussed on before. And as I was gazing out the window, the floor of the building begins to shake. The glass of water on my black marble desk rattles and crashes to the floor, and shards of glass splinter in all directions. This is when I begin to panic. All this beauty, all this wonderment - I wanted to protest. I hadn’t finished looking at how well formed that rose was in Number 451’s garden box, or the mixmatched colours on the cat grooming itself near the grey and weathered trash bin. It was then that I realized that I was at work, and that I worked with many other colleagues.
I called out for Anne, and George, my only friends in my company. The building continues to rattle as I make my way towards the huge black door. After opening it, I burst out onto the other side, and met stone cold silence. No one at the desks, no one at the telephones. It was eerie, and it creeped me out. Lights began to flicker and sway along with the building as I made my way for the nearest stairwell. But it was too late. I could feel the floor beneath me giving way, and felt myself falling, falling falling. It felt like I was being crushed from all sides, or falling down a steep crevasse. As I closed my eyes and felt everything scrape against me, I wake up in my own bed, staring at the tiny fibres of my white cotton pillow.
Just a dream. It was just a dream right? I mean how often do people get that feeling of free-fall during dreams anyway? Probably hundreds. Thousands. Of course it was nothing new to me. As a kid I always dreamt I was chased by a wolf and would always trip and fall, resulting in me waking in a cold sweat. But this was different, because I remembered every single second of that last dream, and in my mind I knew it was all true. Skipping out on the daily routine of cornflakes and cold milk accompanied with slices of banana and strawberries, I rushed out my front door, taking in all the sights. As I neared my office, I walked up onto the pavement to Number 451, and checked out the planter box. It was exactly the same as I remember it. Everything - from the aphids crowding in between two of the petals, to the slightly yellow tinge of the stem, and the dead thorn hanging on one side. I looked at the clothes I was wearing, and although I should not have been surprised, I was wearing the exact same business suit I had dreamt of. In my hurry earlier in the morning, I must have just put it on without a second thought. But looking at it now, it makes me nervous. Will I get a promotion? Will the building fall, like what happened in my dream? Just what exactly was my mind unconsciously thinking, and processing? Well it was time to find out.
I opened the door to my office slowly, and swiped my card before keying in the five digit code. Everyone looked familiar - George, Anne, Greg, Kevin... it seemed like any other normal day. Sitting at my desk now, I think - what a stupid dream it was. Just a stupid, stupid dream which I have taken way too seriously. Honestly, I just can’t get over how I let these things distract me. But you know what, if I hadn’t written all this down, what’s the chance I would have forgotten it? Yeah I know. Now it’s imprinted onto this screen forever, and I can refer to it whenever I want, and maybe delete it when I’m done with it. Only Ted has just come into the office, so I really must get back to work.
--Signed off 1045, 01/06/56
--
“Steven, we need confirmation. Has the package been sent?”
“Yes, its already confirmed. Heading to the freezer, just as planned.”
“Good. I’m glad you and your company are working with us. We’ve been really happy with your cooperation. I’ll give you a good word to Ted for you.”
“Sure, thanks mate. It’s been a pleasure working with you too. It really has.”
--
The bomb had destroyed nearly all of nature’s ecosystems within the blast zone, and along with it had taken almost 200,000 lives. And although much of the city was now a barren wasteland, there still stands a church at the epicentre - almost symbolic amid the destruction and chaos as a pillar of hope and faith. As its spires stretch on out into the cold night, the letters “St. Ba-- --ral” is all that remains on a wooden signpost on one of the stone walls. The church served as a reminder that nothing in this world is certain, and nothing can stop determination, greed...or consequence.
As the relief efforts continued for the survivors, elsewhere men sat dreaming of their next holiday to the Caribbean. Although these particular men - and woman, drank to their success, one sat alone in a large, leather black chair, contemplating his life. Passing a small flirtatious smile to the woman sitting across him, he reflected on the past year. He now had everything he ever wanted - power, money, love. The great American dream, really. He would disappear into the Pacific and have a nice life living among the rich and famous in world renowned resorts, and enjoy first class food, beautiful women, and golden gilded luxuries. Yes, this was the life he had always dreamt about, and he had finally achieved it. There was a sense of accomplishment among the group, as if they had pulled off something really exciting, almost as if a hardship had been overcome.
The woman glanced over at him, and sidled up to his chair.
“Steve...what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking...how about we stop over at Hawaii before heading to the Caribbean? I just love the surf there.”
“Oh honey, whatever you want. It’s your call - I mean all this could never have gone through if it weren’t for you.”
Kissing him lightly, she took his glass and filled it with red wine.
“I say we propose a toast. To us. To Steve for pulling us through. To good times, and to the future.”
Everyone in the room cheered, and raised their glasses. Smiles reflected off the polished glasses, and solid gold made contact with the smooth surfaces, causing a string of echoing clinks as all toasted each other’s victory.
All of a sudden, the lights began to flicker, and distant rumbles echoed throughout the city streets below. The sound of planes filled the sky ahead, and the sound of explosions rocked the building as screaming and shouting filled the thick air outside. Reaching for the remote, one man turned on the TV, bracing himself against a desk while the building constantly shook.
“...continue to persevere and in light of all this, we can only see one option and that is to go to war. It is regrettable that it has to come to this, but there is no other way to end this bloody combat between us and the terrorists who insist on using violence to keep us in a state of fear. We have been fighting this war for decades, but it is clear they are becoming a very real threat to global security. We have condemned the Middle East’s inaction in this crisis, and it is now very evident that much of the threat is stemming from this region. However it is clear that no amount of deterrent will dissuade these people, and so it is inevitable that...”
Static replaced the image of the greying president, and all electricity cut out. And as one man sat in his large leather chair, with his colleagues scrambling to get into a safe place, he closed his eyes and dreamt of a place he had been to once before. And as the bomb ripped apart the planter box with the single rose, or the road which was now cratered in all places, he dreamt only of his memories, as consequence finally caught up with him.